


Sparks of Hope (A Star Wars Advent-Calendar)

by Meysun



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Advent Calendar, Angst, Awesome R2-D2 (Star Wars), Because Time Passes, Clones, Concussions, Dex's Diner (Star Wars), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Feminism, Fluff and Angst, Force Visions (Star Wars), Foreshadowing, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Grief/Mourning, Hurt Obi-Wan Kenobi, Hurt/Comfort, Jedi Archives (Star Wars), Jedi Lineages (Star Wars), Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Younglings (Star Wars), Multi, Obi-Wan Kenobi Gets a Hug, Obi-Wan Kenobi Needs a Hug, Obi-Wan Kenobi is a Mess, Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi, Poetry, Post-Episode s01e15 Trespass, Post-Episode: s04e10 Carnage of Krell, Post-Episode: s04e13 Escape From Kadavo, Post-Rako-Hardeen feels, Romantic Angst, Romantic Friendship, Singing, Sleepwalking, Still Green AU, Tea, Young Obi-Wan Kenobi, halls of healing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:40:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 29,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27806221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meysun/pseuds/Meysun
Summary: A late Star Wars Advent Calendar for all the awesome readers and fans in this wonderful universe. It will feature a different character every day, and revolve around Obi-Wan at various moments of his life - small sparks of hope to make us all resilient.1. Linked (Master Ti, 54 BBY)2. Serendipity (Qui-Gon, 45 BBY)3. Space Pirates (Anakin, 32 BBY)4. Twin Moons (Luminara Unduli, 21 BBY)5. Pillars (Mace Windu, 48 BBY)6. Lucia, Squid and Dwight (Quinlan Vos, 46 BBY)7. Urban Harmony (Bail Organa, 21 BBY)8. Rare Blooms (Padmé Amidala, 20 BBY)9. Free (Rex, 20 BBY)10. Jasmine Indulgences (Jocasta Nu, 36 BBY)11. Quite The Jedi Now (Dexter Jettster, 32 BBY)12. Never-ending Embers (Vokara Che, 22 BBY)13. Odds And Numbers (Commander Cody, 22 BBY)14. Tears Of Steel (Satine, 20 BBY)15. Coming Back Down (Kix, 20 BBY)16. Mission Completed (Artoo, 21 BBY)17. Core Planets (Plo Koon, 20 BBY)18. Landmarks (Asajj Ventress, 20 BBY)19. Circles (Yoda, 52 BBY)20. In The Right Place (Riyo Chuchi, 21 BBY)21. Shockwaves (Kit Fisto, 21 BBY)22. Bonds (Dooku, 22 BBY)
Relationships: CC-2224 | Cody & Obi-Wan Kenobi, Dexter Jettster & Obi-Wan Kenobi, Dooku & Obi-Wan Kenobi, Kit Fisto & Obi-Wan Kenobi, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi & CT-6116 | Kix, Obi-Wan Kenobi & CT-7567 | Rex, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Jocasta Nu, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Luminara Unduli, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Mace Windu, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Plo Koon, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Quinlan Vos, Obi-Wan Kenobi & R2-D2, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Satine Kryze, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Shaak Ti, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Yoda, Obi-Wan Kenobi/Satine Kryze, Padmé Amidala & Obi-Wan Kenobi, Qui-Gon Jinn & Obi-Wan Kenobi, Vokara Che & Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 151
Kudos: 249





	1. Linked (Master Ti)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Siri_Kenobi12](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siri_Kenobi12/gifts), [Lillianne1818](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lillianne1818/gifts), [AssassinOfRome](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AssassinOfRome/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello dear ones, this is my little December gift to you : a small Star-Wars Advent Calendar. The concept is simple : each day a small story, told from a different point of view, always revolving about dear Obi-Wan. The goal is even simpler : enforcing resilience and hope throughout December until Christmas in a fandom I love :).  
>  Siri, Lilly, Holly, this is for you especially <3.
> 
> Take care and enjoy, I hope, Meysun.

**54 BBY.**

Master Shaak Ti gently opened the blinds and watched as the light kissed the ten small Initiates awake. Her fellow crèche-master Adi was currently doing the same in the girls’ wing, and Shaak smiled as she watched young Kit stretch, beady eyes sparkling as they met the sun. Little Quin on the contrary was wrinkling his nose in displeasure, covers firmly wrapped around his body with no intention of budging. Fortunately, Shaak knew how to draw him out.

“Hot rolls and marmalade, Quin-o’-Quin…”, she whispered, hand finding his small arm, gently tickling him as her fingers moved to his shoulder, electing a giggle.

He soon flung himself at her, dark locks whipping the air, small body warm as baked bread as he hugged her.

“Good morning Master Ti”, he smiled at her, and then his finger moved to his lips and he nearly-whispered: “Shhh. Obi is still asleep.”

Master Ti carded her fingers through Quin’s hair, marvelling once more at the _fascination_ the little one seemed to have for the newly-arrived baby-boy, who was indeed still deep in slumber, lips parted in such abandonment that waking him was almost painful.

“Obi dearest?”, Shaak said, gently stroking his back, then brushing his shields with her Force-signature, watching the little one slowly leave sleep’s shores to come back to them. “Time to wake, sweetheart.”

She felt him reach out with the Force first, distinctly catching impressions of _safety, no-need-to-run, still here_ , and then his tiny face was peering up at her, fist rubbing at sleepy grey eyes.

“Good morning Master Ti”, he whispered, throwing the covers back and getting up like the independent little soul he was, hair still mussed by sleep.

The small boy had adapted amazingly fast, and as she watched them get dressed and ready themselves for breakfast, she realised it was because Kit and Quin were never leaving his side, spurning him on and showing him everything. Both were among the most energetic and eldest of the small clan, yet Obi seemed perfectly content and at ease with them and young Luminara, allowing them to drag him around and following them everywhere.

The little one was _tired_ , though. For a few days now, Shaak had noticed that his strength seemed to flag right before their afternoon nap, and in the early evening – that was usually the time they would be reading stories, and she had noticed that Obi barely seemed to follow the words, second and middle finger placed between his lips, left hand rubbing the hem of his tunic rhythmically.

He had to be coaxed into finishing his dinner, as well, eyelids usually starting to droop mid-meal, and Shaak realised that day, as she watched him play and interact and try to adjust, just what tremendous efforts it meant for a baby-boy who was almost a year younger than the rest.

Especially one who had not grown up in the safety of the Temple, and had been forced to leave his brother behind only a month ago.

That day she decided she would let Obi-Wan nap as long as he needed, and congratulated herself when she realised that two full hours had passed since the others had woken, before she felt him stir in the nearby room.

She was not prepared, though, for the feelings of absolute _terror-I’m alone-they all left_ that met her as soon as Obi realised no one was with him, nor for the wave of complete _relief_ washing over him as she cradled him, shushing his tears with hands and Force both.

“I’m there, we are all there, we did not leave, Obi dearest, we just let you sleep…”, she soothed, feeling the little one reach out for them, anguish abating slowly as he checked her signature, and Quin’s, and Kit’s, and Nara’s – and the whole clan’s, reaching out for what seemed the entire Temple before he huddled against her.

And Shaak realised, then. That the little boy was still defining himself in the Force, _among_ them all. That he needed the closeness and the feeling of fellow-Jedi nearby so badly he was unwilling to let them out of sight, because he had not learned yet that he was one among others who were all one with the Force.

“Obi dearest? Sweetheart? Sweetest pea on Coruscant?”

She rubbed her nose against his hair, softly, very tenderly – baby Humans had no lekku to probe the Force and assess the world around them, but Shaak had learnt that they craved touch all the more, and she felt Obi calm down, going almost boneless against her.

“The Force always links us. When we are awake. When we sleep. When we dream. And even when we pass. It cannot go away. Those links you feel, those links you love… They may seem to fade, sometimes, but the Force will always be there, and we are all one in the Force.”

That day, she kept Obi on her lap during story time. She had chosen an old holovid, because the theme seemed fitting, watching Obi’s fingers return to his mouth as the story began – this time however his grey eyes never wavered from the images, small body still with rapture and awe.

It was an Old World’s tale, about a young boy playing in the snow, inviting a snow-man into his house, learning to know him and befriending him, entering a wintery dreamworld, then letting his friend go, with an open ending that left everybody wonder what had been real.

“I think it was a dream”, Luminara said, quietly.

\- No, I think it was real, because of the _speeder_ taking him away into the air!”

Quin was almost bouncing with enthusiasm and Kit supplied:

“And he still had his shawl, so I think the snow-man was a Jedi!

\- I think the little boy looked a lot like Obi”, a small Rodian-girl named Eryn said, and everybody giggled, Obi himself smiling behind his fingers.

“What do you like most in this story, Initiates?”, Master Ti asked, and ere long she had a bunch of excited answers thrown at her.

“When the snowman changes his nose with all the fruits!

\- When he puts red on his cheeks”, Quinlan giggled.

“When they dance in the little boy’s room”, Nara said.

“When they fly in the air like Jedi”, Kit added.

“When they see the Aiwha in the air!

\- When he sneezes!”, young Stass Allie laughed, tendrils shaking in amusement.

“And you, Obi?”, Shaak asked the little boy who had stayed silent on her lap, following the exchange. “What did you like best, playing with your friend the snowman, making fun of us all?”

_That_ made Obi smile again, removing his fingers from his lips.

“The song”, he answered, astonishing even Shaak. “It’s beautiful.

\- Yes!

\- Yes!

\- It’s true, it’s beautiful!

\- But I have already forgotten how it goes”, Eryn observed, somewhat sadly.

“Do you remember it, Obi?”, Shaak asked, sensing something change in the small boy’s signature – and she had the surprise to see him nod. “Can you sing it for us? I can help you with the words, if you want. I love the song as well.”

The little boy stilled for a while, and then he nodded, shyly, looking up at her, grey eyes wide and trusting. The Initiates had all sat down cross-legged around them, and after a few seconds, Obi-Wan’s voice rose, tiny at first but getting surer as he sang, feeling the Force settle around them.

“ ** _We’re walking in the air… We’re floating in the la la sky… The people far below are sleeping as we fly…_** ”

His pitch was absolutely in tune, Obi only faltering when he reached a difficult word.

“ ** _We’re holding very tight… I’m riding in the midnight blue… I’m finding la la la, so high above with you…_** ”

The little boy paused then, shyly hiding his face into her tunic once more. And Shaak realised that the rest of the clan had gone silent, signatures relaxed and open in the Force.

“I think we should learn the song”, Master Ti suggested, wrapping a lekku around Obi-Wan, smiling at them. “I think we should sing it together. That way we won’t forget it, and remember the way it made us feel.”

And that evening, as small Initiates brushed their teeth and went through their sleeping routine, it was not uncommon to hear some of them hum quiet words from a long-gone world. Until they were all asleep under their covers, save for a small, auburn-haired Initiate who reached out, one last time, through the Force, whispering:

“ ** _And everyone who sees us greats us as we fly_.**”

His signature quietly touched the others, brushing them, seeking reassurance and bestowing love, and then Obi-Wan closed his eyes, curling up under the sheets. Soon lost into dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Obi-Wan sings, and the movie the Initiates watch really exists. The movie is called "The Snowman" (1982) and if you love dreamy drawings, beautiful music and simply magic, go and enjoy a rare moment of pure childhood watching it on Youtube. The song was composed by Howard Blake and is called "Walking In The Air". Whenever I hear it, my heart sings, especially the Chloë Agnew version. Have a lovely December 1st, much love, Meysun.


	2. Serendipity (Qui-Gon)

**45 BBY.**

Qui-Gon was not sure what had woken him precisely. His first thought was _rain_ , drumming against the windows and the Temple’s roofs, and for a while he listened quietly. It was so rare for Nature to reclaim its rights on Coruscant, yet the downpour had not paused for two days now, dampening everything.

Cleansing the upper levels.

A soft, small sound sounding suspiciously like a muffled cough made him sit up, realising it came from the kitchen – he turned to his chrono, frowning when he saw the time. It was much too early even for Obi-Wan to be up and about, except… Except his little Padawan had a tendency to sleepwalk, every once in a while. It was becoming rarer, and Qui-Gon really tried to be attentive to signs of stress through their training bond – Obi-Wan had not seemed upset, rather quiet and even subdued the past evening, despite his obvious delight in kata-practice earlier.

His Padawan had felt so _sparkling_ during that shared, teaching moment, so eager to meet him in the Force and to learn, after weeks and weeks spent off-planet in more or less shady transports…

Qui-Gon sighed, getting up, draping his robe around him, heading for the kitchen. He found his Padawan barefoot, hair mussed, trying to make sense of a package of children’s Letynol’s description, arm wrapped around his chest and shivering slightly.

“Obi-Wan…?”

His Padawan raised racoon-like eyes towards him and Qui-Gon instantly stepped up to him, testing his cheek and forehead with the back of his hand. He shook his head quietly, shrugged out of his robe and wrapped it around his little robin, then he lifted him, cradling him against his chest.

He could feel his Padawan’s discomfort through their bond, the stuffed nose, headache and chills, the pain whenever he swallowed, and quietly grabbed the Letynol - he had water in his room.

_Master, you don’t need to…_

The soft voice was faint in his head and Qui-Gon just placed a hand on Obi-Wan’s nape, making a beeline for the bed.

“Come here. One pill should be enough for a little lightweight like you.”

He pulled the covers back with the Force, gently easing his Padawan on the mattress. The robe was dwarfing him, making him seem even more childlike, but Qui-Gon resisted the urge to wrap his arms around him and simply handed him the pill and a glass of water.

“Obi-Wan, whenever you are feeling unwell, or hurt… You need to wake me, little one. There is no need for you to try to deal with it on your own, this is what I am here for. You are my Padawan, Obi-Wan.”

_I know._

The boy’s words were even softer, almost bewildered, and this time Qui-Gon sat down next to him, pulling the covers back on them both, wrapping an arm around Obi-Wan’s waist, leaning him against him.

His Padawan blew his nose, tucking the used handkerchief back into his sleeve with an expression that made him smile – sometimes the little one just looked so stern and dignified, it almost put Mace to shame.

Obi-Wan was still a child, though, and soon melted against him, resting a hot face against his neck, small hand moving to rest against his shoulder, so very trustingly. Qui-Gon carded his fingers through his hair, brushing damp strands away from his forehead, and watched Obi-Wan close his eyes. He soon felt the boy relax as he fell back to sleep, puffing small, congested breaths into his chest.

And Qui-Gon was invaded with a pure, warm and somewhat heart-breaking sensation, more cleansing than the rain still brushing windows and roofs, streets and homes.

He fell asleep arms drawn around the stubborn, quiet, wonderful child he was lucky enough to be entrusted with. And he smiled once he woke, finding Obi-Wan still wrapped in his robe, huddled against his side, hair damp with sweat but still slightly snoring, cheeks tinged with pink.

They had nowhere to be that day – and coming to think about it, it was probably why his Padawan’s body had chosen to crash, what with them running from one errand to the next ever since Hosnian Prime…

So Qui-Gon quietly got up, gently placing the covers back around Obi-Wan, and brewed himself a pot of tea, taking a data-pad back with him.

He indulged into an hour of reading, then into an ever rarer pleasure, picking a game of crosswords, nibbling at his stylet as he tried to solve the grid, his Padawan a warm, soft weight against his right thigh and hip.

Qui-Gon was frowning at the words “chance defines my findings” – _that_ was certainly not to be found in the Jedi code, but would give him eleven letters, undoubtedly helping him to move along… For now, however, he seemed to be stuck, and was about to console himself with tea when a hoarse voice next to him croaked:

“Serendipity.”

He turned, bewildered, towards his Padawan who had not even bothered to open his eyes, but had moved closer, pressing a sleepy face into his side, coughing into his sleeve like the good boy he was.

“Try _serendipity_ , Master.”

Qui-Gon wrapped an arm around the boy and pulled him even closer, placing the data-pad on his raised knee so as to free a hand, drawing quiet patterns into Obi-Wan’s hair, smiling when he heard him sigh contentedly.

Serendipity had no role into bringing them together - but it solved the riddle.

It solved the riddle beautifully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lytenol is an anagram of Tylenol, also known as Paracetamol. And serendipity is one of my favourite words - because I learned the word in medical history class (some discoveries were made that way) and also because of Andrew Bird's live song 'The Water Jet Cilice' whose lyrics could fit Obi and Satine in such a beautiful way - I so imagine Obi-Wan loving this artist on stolen moments, and I just loved imagining Qui-Gon having fun with crossword-riddles. That pair of Master/Padawan really owns my heart :).
> 
> Have a lovely December 2nd with tea, nice words and general goodness. Much love, stay safe, Meysun.


	3. Space Pirates (Anakin)

**32 BBY.**

“Whoom! Take this! And this! And this, _wermo_!”

The little boy bounced excitedly on the bed, clinging to the obi he had deftly wrapped around his bedstand, pretending he was grabbing the control sticks of a Naboo cruiser and firing charges.

“Anakin…”

Ani slowly lowered his hands, heart still hammering with excitement, and looked up guiltily to Master Obi-Wan who was leaning against the doorframe, dry-towelling his hair and staring in silent amazement at Ani’s bed-not-really-cruiser.

“Anakin, is that your obi?”

The little boy shrugged, frowning unhappily under his helmet.

_You said I could play… You said we were done for today._

“I did…”

Obi-Wan’s voice was soft. So were his eyes. They always reminded him of – something like Mom. Different. But with the same expression he could not really pinpoint, one that was both sad and strong and loving and sometimes also just so very _calm_.

Obi-Wan folded the towel and placed it on Ani’s desk, and then he sat down next to him. He smelt of soap and water, something that was still completely _marvellous_ for Ani, but what Ani loved most was the way the Force felt around him – it was so quiet. So warm.

“Anakin… if by _playing_ you understand firing imaginary shots at people while yelling Huttese curses at the top of your lungs – then there is something I failed to teach you, I am afraid.”

Ani watched his bare toes curl, on the coarse blanket. Small shoulders slumped, and he mumbled, dejectedly:

“I am sorry, Master.”

He raised a hand, ready to remove his helmet, but Obi-Wan shook his head, fingers gently closing around his wrist.

“We don’t want any Jedi Master barging in, asking me if I have taken leave of my senses, giving shelter to the fiercest pilot in the Galaxy…?”

Obi-Wan’s eyes were sparkling, and Anakin straightened, small face lightening as he peered up at him.

“No, Master…

\- Well then – I suppose we’ll just need the Force to keep us silent, then”, his Master whispered, winking at him.

That day, Ani learned several things. One was how to make a silent bubble with Force-currents, like a small cockpit to hide under, where it was absolutely safe to shout and make any loud sounds one wanted. Another was, that his Master was the absolute _best_ when it came to answering imaginary radiofrequencies, especially when Ani begged him to fake a pirate’s voice.

“Oh no no no no no no, MasteRRR SkywaLLLLkeRRR, I am afRRRAid your pRRREcious cargo of spices is landing in. My. Very. Shuttle.

\- No it won’t, you _sleemo_!”

Behind him, his Master was quaking with silent laughter, but when Ani turned, Obi-Wan’s face was deadly serious, exactly like he should because he was Anakin’s co-pilot and they were battling pirates together.

“What shall we do with him, Master? He won’t listen…

\- Hmmm… What do you think, Ani? 

\- We could always blast him.

\- Hmmm. Not very Jedi-like, I suppose…”

His Master’s arms were around him, because Anakin had made him sit behind him, using Obi-Wan’s arms like armrests in order to aim his shots. And Obi-Wan squeezed, just a little, and whispered:

“But I think we have tried hard enough to negotiate with the fellow.

\- BOOOOOOM!”, Ani yelled, deep under their Force-bubble, and he fired such an imaginary shot that he had to rest against Obi-Wan’s chest, shaking with laughter and glee.

His helmet had slipped, slightly, and Obi-Wan adjusted it once more, tucking Ani’s Padawan braid safely under. And suddenly Anakin felt his heart swell, because his Master was the absolute _best_ friend he ever had – the most wonderful person Ani knew save Mum and Padmé and Master Qui-Gon who was now one with the Force.

So Ani turned, and hugged Obi-Wan fiercely, not caring if the helmet slipped, pressing his body as tightly as he could against Obi-Wan’s chest. And his Master’s arms wrapped themselves once more around him, warm and caring, keeping him safe.

“I think he got what he deserved”, his Master whispered, and Ani giggled, softly, nodding against him. “Shall we return to base, then?

\- Tell the Astromech to set the course, Master.”

Ani kept his arms around Obi-Wan, though, and when his Master unclipped the helmet’s laces, he let him ruffle his sweaty hair, leaning his cheek against his shoulder, making the Force-bubble disappear.

“Master, when will we go on missions together?”, Ani whispered, feeling Obi-Wan begin to untie the abused obi.

“We still need to study a bit, Anakin”, and the little boy sighed.

“You mean _I_ have to study a bit”, he mumbled.

“Anakin…”, his Master’s voice was very soft. “You have only been here five months. Most Initiates do not become Padawans until they are at least twelve. We just need to be patient – both of us. I am sure we will find ourselves in a cockpit for real soon enough.

\- I hope so”, Anakin sighed dreamily. “Did you ever meet real pirates, Master?

\- And how do you think I leaRRRRned how to taLLLLk like this, SkywaLLLkeRRR?”

That evening, Anakin fell asleep thinking of the many pirate-stories Obi-Wan had told him. And that night, because of one particularly scary dream where a pirate was holding his Master captive, he ended up tiptoeing half-asleep into Obi-Wan’s room, searching for his Force-presence.

_Anakin? Is… Are you alright?_

Obi-Wan was barely awake himself, but he instinctively turned towards him, lifting his blanket, letting Anakin crawl under it until he was hugging him.

“Pirates. Spikes was afraid.”

He tucked his tooka-doll close to his cheek and listened to the few quiet breaths Obi-Wan let out, body falling back to sleep but bond still aware.

_Tell him… They were blasted. Fearsome pilot. Never seen his like._

His Master’s hair was all mussed. It fell into his eyes, now that it had grown a bit, and Ani loved its softness under his fingers.

_Ani, don’t… It’s all… tussled._

“It’s always tussled.”

_…_

_…_

_Not fair, Padawan mine._

Obi-Wan’s breaths were evening out and his arms were growing heavier around Anakin. The little Padawan wriggled a bit, adjusting his position against his chest, leaning his cheek against Obi-Wan’s neck.

“Boom”, he whispered, closing his eyes – and through their bond, faintly, Obi-Wan echoed it.

 _Boom_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boom :). And a little thumb's up for Hondo Ohnaka's absolutely hilarious character and the man giving him his voice - I know Obi-Wan hasn't met him yet, but it's totally him I had in mind when I made him talk like that. Spikes is Ani's tooka-doll. And yes, he kept the helmet from the battle of Naboo. The absolute best at making silent Force-bubbles is Luminara Unduli, who taught Obi the trick. Just for you to know :). Have a lovely December 3rd, much love, Meysun.


	4. Twin Moons (Luminara Unduli)

**21 BBY.**

Geonosis reeked of dust and loss.

The Force was echoing with the phantom pain of Clones blown up and torn to pieces. And of other wounds, still fresh after eighteen months of war – fallen Jedi in an arena where death had only ever been sport.

Luminara had been there. And so had Obi-Wan, whose presence she could feel approaching as she stared at the canyon at her feet that had nearly swallowed two Padawans alive.

“A hard-won victory.”

Her friend’s voice was soft, and she could sense endless compassion in the Force, gently brushing against her. Azure and golden, her twin moon rising in the skies, ever since childhood.

“Indeed. And a costly one”, she sighed, quietly, and he joined her on the canyon’s rim – taller than her now, vambraces and shoulder-plates hiding his litheness away. “We suffer great many losses in these battles. Too many.”

She turned towards him, dark-blue eyes meeting deep grey, and took his hand. She did not entwine their fingers – they were friends, not lovers. But she still closed her hand around his gloved one, because Point Rain had almost grinded him to dust – smashing ribs, collarbone, leg and skull. Painting his signature grey and crimson.

“The Padawans are safe and resting”, Obi-Wan told her, meeting her sadness in the Force and gently taking it away from her. “I left them both fast asleep. They did so well, Luminara. You and Anakin can be proud.

\- I am…”, Luminara answered. “Not having to let them go… it was a gift, Obi. And I am so grateful.”

_Yet you are sad._

Her friend’s voice was soft in the Force and she turned towards him, smiling at him, raising her hand and removing a rebellious strand from his forehead.

“Your hair is still damp from Bacta”, she simply replied.

There was no use telling him how terrible it had felt, to have seen him return to base clinging to Master Mundi, knowing what this meant. No point in acknowledging how cruel it was to have him standing there beside her, seemingly pristine and whole, wounds gone when scars had barely begun to heal. They were both Generals, after all, and they both _knew_.

They both yearned for this to end – for their Padawans. For his Grand-padawan.

For all the Jedi.

“There seems no way to get properly rid of the stuff”, Obi-Wan voiced, smiling at her. “And I’m not ready for Quin’s concoction yet.”

That made Luminara laugh, the sound ringing silvery like a bell, chasing sadness away.

“No. Undoubtedly, Obi. It almost washed his tattoo away… poor dear. The _face_ of Master Tholme when he saw him…

\- Yes… I do not think I have seen _that_ combination of absolute horror and exasperation ever since – though I’m sure Anakin would have much to say on the subject.

\- He is very fond of you, Obi. And of Ahsoka as well.”

Laughter faltered, like a butterfly closing its wings – but both stood lighter now, like reeds above the abyss.

“The battles do appear to be coming with growing frequency”, Obi-Wan said, quietly, the Force wrapping them both in its gentle embrace before they let go of the other’s hand. “I hope we have reached the storm’s eye at last.

\- I hope so as well – we must trust the Force”, she answered quietly and then, in an act of defiance against this planet that only sought to tear them apart, she added : “Kit called. Said we are both to come back in one piece, for Quin’s sanity and his own. He is, and I quote, _tired of playing nursemaid for a psychic_ , _crooked-minded terror_.”

Obi-Wan’s laughter was quiet, almost silent, but warm.

“Is he quite recovered, though? He must be, if he has begun to read Kit’s belongings again… That’s good to hear, Nara. His last mission was quite the trial… I do not know how he manages it, frankly.”

_He says the same about you, Obi._

Her friend frowned, slightly, and once more Luminara marvelled at the way Obi-Wan and Quinlan seemed to be opposed poles of the same current. One standing on the front lines, the other fighting in the shadows. Both so caring. Both so reckless.

“No sign of Poggle, then?”, Luminara asked him, eventually, and Obi-Wan shook his head.

“Nothing. We have Clone-squadrons spread out all over the area, but no hits yet.”

She nodded, turning from the canyon, heading towards her speeder.

“Very well. I’ll go out and find some clue as to where he went.”

And though her caring, reckless friend was trying once more to protect her, arguing that the Clones could handle it, Luminara shook her head.

“Poggle has too much information about the Separatists to let him get away.”

She raised her eyes towards him and saw his face soften in acceptation.

“Very well, _Master Unduli_ ”, he told her, bowing to her, and Luminara climbed on her speeder, determination anchoring her in the Force once more.

“Just make sure to leave a bit of strategic planning for me when I come back, _Master Kenobi_ ”, she teased back. “I’d hate to feel left out.”

_And you, my dear friend, need to recover._

She did not turn towards him, throwing herself into the Geonosian heat and dust, racing through the sand. But she felt his warmth, brushing her mind, his quiet, shrouded light, fighting back the dry red landscape – a small beacon, reminding her to come back.

_Still green, Nara._

She smiled at those childish words, from a past where all seemed safe – yet even then, there had been doubts and chasms to bridge.

“Still green, my friend.”

Nara raced on, knowing that somewhere, among red dust and losses, there was also gold, and azure. A promise of calm, and kin - a safety net of hope, and _home_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a bit sadder - some bits of the dialogue are taken directly from S2E07 'Legacy Of Terror' in the Clone Wars. Here, however, it is set in a sort of "alternative-universe" my readers and I dubbed "Still Green", where Luminara, Kit, Quinlan and Obi-Wan are close childhood friends. I plan to write a longer fic set at the end of "Attack of the Clones", dealing with the First Battle of Geonosis and its aftermath after this calendar so if you have questions/requests, feel free to shoot.
> 
> The song going with this bit is "Circonflexe" from Grandbrothers. Have a lovely December 4th, take care, Meysun.


	5. Pillars (Mace Windu)

**48 BBY.**

Rays of amethyst graced the training rooms, drawing one last swirl in the evening shadows, and Mace lowered his lightsaber, switching it off, gracefully falling into the slow, meditative moves of the simple Initiates’ katas.

Vapaad was fierce, and his Master had taught him to come back to the softer, humbler ways of the Force so as to stay in the light – it was a lesson in serenity and balance Mace had never forgotten.

Master Cyslin Myr had been his anchor in the storm, his teacher in the Way, back then when there had been as many doubts within him as frizzy locks on his skull. She had taught him her beliefs in the Force, how to overcome his frustrations so as to use the fire burning within him as a fuel for virtue, morality and protection.

“A pillar, my Padawan. This is who you are meant to be. Do not fear loneliness. Do not mind the hights, the cold, the solemnity. Yet do not forget the grounds who raised you.”

And Master Windu lost himself in the slow, easy katas, brown robes swirling around him, eyes closed, finally one with the Force.

The room was dark when he bowed, one last time, coming back to his surroundings, silently thanking the Force for its many teachings - and that was when Mace noticed the thin, light silhouette facing him on the grounds.

The boy was barefoot, in beige sleeping tunics and leggings, standing very straight yet swaying slightly, grey eyes wide-open but staring _beneath_ him, small hands curled at his sides.

“Kenobi”, Mace murmured, taking a step towards the little, auburn-haired Initiate, mindful not to wake him.

Obi-Wan shivered slightly and Mace sighed, dropping one knee on the ground so as to be on eye-level with the boy who seemed to have fallen into the habit of finding _him_ , of all people, whenever he sleepwalked.

“ _You will try to understand_ ”, Kenobi whispered, his usually chirping tone rough from sleep – making him sound so much older than his nine years. “ _You will try to save them. The last of their kind._ ”

The child’s eyes had the foreign, faraway look of _seers_ , but his signature flickered like a tiny flame. A vessel of the Force he was still barely _beginning_ to understand.

“Save whom?”, Mace asked him, still kneeling before him, careful not to touch him, and as usual, Obi-Wan did not really answer.

“ _You will look into green eyes and see them fade. You will hear them named as a beast. A threat to neutralize._ ”

Obi-Wan had closed his eyes, the shadows painting deep angles into his face – but when he tilted his head, childhood was still softening his cheeks and chin.

“ _And you will watch them die, knowing they did recognize you. You will grieve. But they will know you. They will take your face with them, and you shall keep your honour._ ”

The little boy was swaying slightly now, and Mace knew the vision was fading in Obi-Wan’s mind. The dream was leaving him, and his small hands uncurled as the child’s head drooped, sinking softly against Mace’s shoulder.

Kenobi would have no knowledge of it on the morrow – he was a bright, gentle Initiate who was as secretive as he was hard-working, but whose signature was not troubled by darkness _yet_. Mace had witnessed his crystal-gathering on Ilum, though, and knew that the boy had already faced trials.

Obi-Wan had been the last one leaving the Crystal Cave, almost numb with cold, Force-skidding under the nearly frozen door, left wrist broken and grey eyes awash, blue crystal firmly clasped in his hand. It had surprised Mace, who was used to Kenobi’s rather subdued, careful behaviour.

Obi-Wan’s forehead gently slid towards his neck and the child burrowed closer, draping an arm across his shoulder, Force-signature _breathing out_ , searching for Mace’s in instinctive recognition. And Mace exhaled, because _compassion_ was flooding the Force around him.

Compassion, and _recognition_.

“ _Balancing crest lines_ ”, Kenobi mumbled, against Mace’s shoulders. “ _Pillar_.”

Master Windu slowly stood up, taking Kenobi with him. The child was tiny, feather-like in his arms – but the Force was strong around him. Strong, and flowing _through_ him, eager to be heard.

Kenobi had met him like this a few times, ever since Ilum. Harvesting his crystal seemed to have funnelled his connexion to the Cosmic Force, flooding him with dreams and visions, whose significance yet remained obscure.

They were grave, though. Warnings Mace was determined to heed.

Yet the little one kept trying to soften them, warm body pressing against his in a show of affection Mace would have addressed – were Obi-Wan awake.

But one could not scold a sleeping child. Especially one whose Force-signature felt so open and warm – _moon rays on stone pillars_.

“Don’t make a habit of this”, Mace uttered, voice deep and stern, dark hand splayed against Obi-Wan’s light tunic.

The child’s leg brushed his lightsaber and Mace slid it away, shaking his head, looking at the small, peaceful face tucked against his neck.

“You never talk to me awake”, he told the sleeping boy, walking away from the grounds, leaving the training rooms. “Perhaps you should, Initiate Kenobi.”

He sent a subtle Force-suggestion towards the child – an offering. A spread-out palm for the shy little bird Kenobi still was.

Several years would need to pass, along with many sorrows, doubts and losses, until Mace would truly hear him talk, would be able to take comfort and warmth in the pillar he _also_ was.

And decades later, it was Obi-Wan who would be standing next to him, among poisonous gases, watching an ageless creature extinguish itself along with its species, grey eyes full of gentle sorrow and compassion.

“You did what you could”, his friend told him, that evening, Force-signature brushing against his shoulder in mute comfort.

And Mace Windu closed his eyes, taking the creature’s face with him, thinking of an innocent, childlike voice telling him he still had honour – and let go of the sadness, the helplessness, the dread and the raising darkness.

A pillar once more, as others had become, mindful of the grounds who had raised him. Balancing crest-lines.

But not alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one... this one was very different to write, more angsty perhaps - also sterner, because I see Mace very much like that. He's a difficult character to write but you know me now, whenever I get into their skins, I'm hopelessly in love with them. I wrote Mace Windu with a little pang in my chest, thinking of all he embodies - this little fic is a tribute to the Zillo Beast-episodes, where I truly learned to *know* him, because they are amazing. The music going along this piece, especially at the beginning, is 'Fearless' by Shigeru Umebayashi. The events on Ilum are taken from my other fic 'Blossoms In The Wind'.
> 
> Before I leave you, I want to give a huge thank you to that_annoying_fool (on A03) and thenegoteator (on tumblr) who actually *drew* Ani and Obi playing pirates. You can find that wonderful illustration on their comment in chapter 3 on A03, on their tumblr and also on mine (mahizli). It made my heart so full and warm.
> 
> Thanks to all of you for making this fandom such a joy to write in. Take care, you wonderful people who help us balancing crest-lines too, and a wonderful December 5th to you, Meysun.


	6. Lucia, Squid and Dwight (Quinlan Vos)

**46 BBY.**

The speeders kept racing in the skies above them, and Quin watched them buzz around, painted orange and red in the setting sun, eyes squinting slightly, trying to imagine where they were headed.

Beneath him, Obi was sketching in his small flimsibook, sitting cross-legged against a chimney. Nara was watching the sunset, holding a perfect gym-bridge, gazing at the skies between her hands, and Kit was cracking a handful of Koja nuts, levitating the shells around him with the Force.

“What are you drawing, Obi?”, Quin asked, and his friend looked up.

“Just clouds and skyscrapers and speeders.”

It really _looked_ alike, even without colours, and for a while Quin watched Obi draw. But then he got bored and picked up one of Obi’s stylets, removing his glove and closing his fingers around it.

_The light falls this way. Don’t forget to draw some shadows here._

Huh. Quin didn’t know that was important, and he didn’t really care, because there was more to read on the stylet. This was just the first layer of thoughts and expressions – so Quin went deeper, eyes still lost in the skies.

_I wonder who lives in those towers. Maybe they are offices? Maybe people just work here – maybe we can ask Master Ti. I think Madame Nu might know, as well, maybe there are maps in the Archives._

Ugh. How boring. There was no way they would go back there, they already spent _waaay_ to much time researching and writing papers, and all along Madame Nu kept shushing them and telling them to be quiet. Quin got antsy just thinking about it and squirmed slightly, inadvertently bumping Obi’s elbow.

His friend looked up once more – and noticed the stylet in Quin’s bare hand.

“Are you _reading_ it, Quin?”

Kit stopped cracking nuts, and Nara righted herself with a silent backflip, because Obi sounded upset, frowning up at Quin. He held out his hand, and Quin placed the stylet back into his palm.

He wasn’t _saying_ anything, he just stared, and after a while Quin squirmed again.

“Sorry, Obi. I was just…

\- _Why_?”

Obi sounded puzzled, and unsure, grey eyes wide as he peered up at Quin.

“I’m right next to you, Quin”, his friend said softly. “Why don’t you just ask me?”

_Because you don’t tell. Not really. You just sit here, and I can’t make you out. Your shields are too tight, and you barely ever project. And I want…_

Quin was not even sure _what_ he wanted. He just knew that, whenever the Force was swirling in his mind, making him almost sick with too much _reading_ because he had forgotten to put on his gloves, the only one helping beside Master Ti was Obi.

 _Because_ Obi knew how to draw his shields as tight as durasteel walls, to keep his feelings deep inside while projecting only calm and that strange, green landscape Quin had never seen but had to be Stewjon.

He would cling to his friend’s hands, and feel _soothed_ – but at the same time, it always felt like Obi was slipping away, like water bubbling between his fingers. And Quin was afraid.

They were eleven now.

The Choosing would begin soon – and Quin _knew_ , deep inside, that he was a handful. That he made Master Ti sigh more than often, that he annoyed the kriff out of Master Windu – which was quite amusing, to be honest – and that Madame Nu had abandoned the thought of keeping him silent in the Archives, simply putting him under a silent Force-bubble whenever he set foot there. Or asking Nara and Obi to do so.

And it felt… it felt like _everything_ was slipping away. Cracking like one of Kit’s nuts. And Quin didn’t want it. Quin wanted to stay just like this. On the Jedi Temple’s roof, watching the sun set with Kit, Nara – and Obi.

He wanted to hold their hands and never let go, he wanted to cuddle against Obi like when they were little and were allowed to hug without anybody asking them not to.

He did not want to be alone in his own head, because his own head was a whirlwind Quin didn’t _understand_ – because the Force was always swirling and pushing him on, and because it was so hard to just stay _calm_ and wonder about light and shadows and people around… as a Jedi should.

But Quin was also brash, and unafraid, and not _allowed_ to say such things aloud – and so he just laughed.

“I know who lives in that building”, he began to fib. “It’s a nest of bounty hunters. They do so on purpose, very close to the Jedi Temple, because no one suspects them to be so daring.

\- Only _you_ ”, Kit huffed. “Of course, Quin. And Master Yoda’s stick is a secret second lightsaber he uses whenever it’s needed.

\- Really?!”

Quin straightened, and Kit burst out laughing.

“ _No_ , you oaf!

\- Language, Kit”, Nara threw in, gently. “What a vivid imagination you both have, really… Shall we have some nuts?”

They watched the sun set, and the stars rise, eating tangerines and Koja nuts, along with the sweet tea they had manage to cajole from Master Ti. And Quin leant against Obi’s shoulder and _tried_ , really hard, to pretend it would stay like this forever.

They were already in their beds, most of their fellow Initiates already asleep, when Quin felt Obi turn towards him.

“Quin…? Are you asleep?

\- No. You…?”

 _I’m talking to you, Quin_ – Obi projected, gently, and Quin smiled, in the dark.

“Only… I kept thinking… What if there really was a nest of bounty hunters out there and we didn’t know? Because - I think it’s a very good story…”

Quin’s heart beat a little faster at those words, because Obi was always reading _something_ , sometimes even forgetting the world around him.

“It’s at least three of them”, Quin whispered. “A Twi’lek woman called Lucia, who is so beautiful that everybody falls in love with her before she blasts them to pieces. A fierce Quarren-guy called Squid.

\- Squid?”, Obi breathed out, shuffling just a tiny bit closer on his roll, and Quin’s smile widened as he nodded.

“Yeah. And a droid called DW-8, short for Dwight.

\- Lucia, Squid and Dwight?”, Obi whispered, projecting _excitement_ , _curiosity_ and something so very _Obi_ in the Force – small and wonderful and precious, reminding Quin that Obi was still a bit younger.

Sometimes it was so easy to forget. But not that night.

“Mhm”, Quin whispered back, turning towards him and lifting his covers. “Hop in, Obi. We don’t want to wake the others.”

Obi crawled in without a noise, small body fitting perfectly under Quin’s covers. He had brought his pillow, though, and snuggled against him, soft hair tickling Quin’s neck.

“So”, Quin whispered. “It all began in a big, big _dumpster_ , where Lucia was salvaging bits of metal to build a new chest plate. She was trying to lift a piece of rebar that was really heavy because she wasn’t a Jedi and couldn’t use the Force, and that’s when she heard a very strange _beep_.”

Obi shivered in anticipation, hand curling around his pillow, and Quin did not need to read anything of Obi’s to know what he was thinking.

“Yeah, Obi. That’s how she met Dwight.”

Squid did not even appear in Quin’s stories until seven days afterwards – there was so much to tell about Lucia’s past and the way Dwight was built and kept needing replacements for broken pieces. Only a month afterwards, when Squid was finally introduced and was coming to an agreement with Lucia, did Quin realize that Obi’s notebooks were not full of skyscrapers or plants anymore.

They were full of words, carefully written down - and of drawings.

Drawings of a Twi’lek, a Quarren and a fierce-looking droid.

Lucia, Squid and Dwight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my dears, sorry for the delay -- it's much more convenient for me to post on the evenings now, so I hope you will forgive me and that you liked this little bit, even though it was late. Hope you have a wonderful December 6th! Much love, Meysun - and thanks to all of you who took the time to meet me on Tumblr, it's just so wonderful to have you there :).


	7. Urban Harmony (Bail Organa)

**21 BBY.**

The soft notes of the trumpet circled the stools, dancing on tiptoes on the bar, laughing at the many aligned bottles as night grew dark as ink outside, and Bail smiled, closing his eyes.

It felt like a stolen moment from a long-gone time – shielded and refined, so very _urban_ , yet there was purity in those notes. Purity and a sense of improvisation that allowed his mind to truly relax. Forgetting for a few minutes that they were at war, that Alderaan was far away and peace even more elusive – it was just music, a sense of pleasure and irony, and _harmony_.

“Forgive me”, he told Obi-Wan, once the song died away, soon replaced by another soft, musical tune. “I confess this piece always gets me.

\- No need to apologize…”

His friend was smiling, fingers loosely circling his glass, waving ember circles with a small flick of his wrist. He had discarded his plastoid armour for their meeting at the Senate and simply wore his many Jedi layers, and his brown cloak – yet Obi-Wan did not seem out of place, sipping at Corellian Cardhu, something rare and peaceful shining through his grey eyes.

“I still can’t believe your Jedi tricks worked – they just don’t _look_ at us, it’s as if we were just…

\- Just people having a drink. Not worth more than a second glance. My suggestion exactly.”

Obi-Wan was smiling and Bail shook his head.

“And they just… _believe_ it? If you were sitting there with someone else, and I were to enter the bar, would I fall for it as well?

\- Well…”, Obi-Wan tipped his glass just so slightly, watching the Cardhu draw another small circle. “I’m not sure. For you, my friend, have a very shrewd and observant mind. I suppose I would have to argue very hard with your signature…

\- Is that what you _do_ , Obi-Wan?”

The trumpet raised another few defiant notes, and Obi-Wan looked up at him, shaking his head slowly.

“No, Bail. I only Force-suggest when I have to, and it usually works on bound, self-serving minds. It’s against the Jedi way to try and influence anybody, unless circumstances are dire.

\- And you, my friend, have a true silver tongue. For you managed to make me feel very smart, before wondering how you define _dire_.”

Obi-Wan smiled, and they both took a sip, basking in the trumpet’s notes for a while. The Senate meeting had taken ages, and Bail was glad to have managed to convince his friend to follow him there – it seemed so long since they had talked of anything else than negotiations or strategics.

“Qui-Gon would have loved this”, Obi-Wan said, voice very low, and Bail hummed, softly, because his friend rarely indulged into that particular topic. “The music. The peace. The Cardhu, as well, of course.”

He had a soft, small laugh and Bail smiled. 

“He loved _Summertime_ , you know. He used to hum it all the time. So did I, to be honest. But this… this is distilled _wonder_ , Bail.

\- The true essence of trumpet-playing”, Bail simply replied, taking another sip. “I come here whenever I miss Alderaan, and am never disappointed.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes softened, and he placed his glass back on the table.

“Do you manage to get home, Bail?

\- Whenever I can… Every three months or so. Breha doesn’t come here often, so I suppose I am the one who needs to board the ship.”

His friend chuckled, but Bail could see the faraway look in his eyes that had never really left, ever since Obi-Wan had informed the Senate of his next mission’s goal.

“And what about your ship, tomorrow… For Mandalore? The Jedi Council seemed to imply you had spent some time there, years ago…

\- Yes…”

His friend leant back in his chair, hand moving towards his glass again – features softening even more. He looked less like a Jedi and more like a man, suddenly, and though Bail knew Obi-Wan’s fierceness in war, and even sharper mind when it came to negotiations or battle plans, it seemed to him his friend was letting down his guard, slowly. For a few husky hours, shadowed by trumpet notes and confidences.

“I spent a year guarding the Duchess, when I was sixteen years-old, along with my Master. Until Sundari was safe and stable once more.

\- And then?”, Bail asked, softly, and Obi-Wan had a small shrug, sipping at his glass once more.

“And then we came back. She became the leader of her people, and I… resumed my Padawan duties. Force knows our next mission was not long to arise…”

_Just like now._

The words hung unspoken between them, and Bail nodded, slowly.

“Far from me to question the Jedi ways, Obi-Wan… But is it not a bit… _heartless_ to send you there, of all people, given the current accusations against Duchess Satine? Or is it another clever trick?”

Obi-Wan smiled, eyes still fixed on the table.

“No Jedi trick. My friends suspected something, I suppose, back then. But only Qui-Gon _knew_. My Master was very gifted, you see, at acknowledging the losses I was yet too young to feel. He did not say a word. But… those months and _years_ afterwards, he took great care to make me see that, though I could not have them, the Force was still helping me reaching out for them.

\- Them…”, Bail repeated, softly, and it was no real question, but Obi-Wan still answered him, eyes dusky in the half-shadows.

“Children. What Jedi cannot have – yet we are all children of the Force, and those who have nothing have everything. As I so well know now, having to deal both with a reckless Padawan, and an intrepid Grand-Padawan.”

This time, Obi-Wan’s smile was genuine, and Bail smiled back.

“A last glass? For the journey… One can never know where it takes us.

\- How very true, my friend… How very true.”

The trumpet let out a few soft thrills – telling of friends sitting together before parting ways once more, of love and dare, of dreams and wishes. Of understanding – of letting go, and smiles exchanged, contemplating the odd whims of life. And of faith – of music, and simple harmony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry sorry sorry to be so late... I didn't manage to post on time today, but I'll try to catch up, I had nothing written before and wrote super late today :). The song for that piece is "Lament" by Chet Baker :). And then, Obi-Wan flies back to Sundari and finally meets Satine again :). It's up to you to decide what happens, if you follow canon or not, but for those who ship Obitine, I have a small series with stolen moments they share in an agreement that is love, not attachment, called 'No More, No Less'. Happy late December 7th or early December 8th to you, much love, Meysun.


	8. Rare Blooms (Padmé Amidala)

**20 BBY.**

The Festival of Light had been shadowed by threat and war, that year. And though it was not the first crisis Naboo had breached, Padmé could not help but feeling just how fragile the Republic appeared, eight-hundred and forty-seven years afterwards it welcomed them.

There was so much deception. So much anger.

Anakin had barely spoken to her – and refused to talk to Obi-Wan, once his former Master had recovered his voice and his face. And Padmé was worried, because Anakin had been desperate, bordering on frenzy, ever since Obi-Wan’s faked death. Now, however, he was closed off and distant, even with Ahsoka, and Padmé had decided to take a walk in the Palace’s gardens.

She was so rarely here, now – yet she remembered every walk, every staircase, every official room from her time as a Queen. She had been so young… and yet, no stranger to deception either. Neither had her handmaidens.

_M’lady, I’m so sorry… I have failed you, Senator…_

Cordé’s face swam before Padmé’s eyes and she blinked, heading for the garden’s orchards, where the trees were high and grew, and were flowers would help her remember what she was fighting for.

Sabé, Saché, Rabé, Duja… they were all willing to lay down their lives for her. And no one realised how difficult it had been, and still was, accepting to stay safe, to lose one of them in order to remain alive and ready to serve.

She had not fooled the Jedi, back then. Qui-Gon had not even batted an eye, when she had insisted to accompany him on Naboo, and Obi-Wan… Obi-Wan had always been masterful at hiding his feelings, even as a Padawan. She remembered his discretion, his softness, the way he somehow always managed to adapt, fluid and pliant like a mountain-stream.

And she remembered his grief. The way he had stumbled into the hangar, once Theed was safe and the Federation’s blockade grinded to dust. The way he had embraced Anakin, even as Ani had screamed and rained blows down on him. The way he had insisted to stand vigil for Qui-Gon, alone and pale-faced, looking almost as dead as him.

She had worried for him, and for Ani, those weeks separating the end of the battle of the peace celebrations. The Jedi Council and the Republic had tried to investigate clues about the mysterious Sith warrior – Darth Maul – but had remained unsuccessful.

Padmé had been relieved once Ani and Obi-Wan had returned – Ani still the little sunshine he was, eager and excited. And Obi-Wan almost like his former self – yet more _defined_. With something both intense and soft in his eyes that told of fears, losses and demons faced, if not entirely conquered.

She had taken his hand – like that day of horrible loss, when he had cried before her yet had not seemed to be able to notice it. And she had taken him through the gardens, towards that remote, untamed place where trees and flowers grew.

“We planted it for him. I understood he liked Nature – trees, and flowers.”

Obi-Wan had nodded. Back then, it was still so very difficult to make him say _anything_ about Qui-Gon – but he had knelt, silently, placing his palm against the tiny trunk sprouting out of the garden’s soil.

They had planted it at the head of a flat, snowy marble plate that would warm every time the sun shone on it. Nothing was written there, no words, no symbol – yet the whole Palace knew what it stood for.

“The flowers are a rarity. Sometimes a whole life is not enough to see them bloom. Rare are those who have seen them more than once.

\- Have you?”, Obi-Wan had asked, softly, still kneeling in front of the marble stone, palm resting against the marble, and Padmé had nodded.

“When I was eight years old. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.”

She had left him alone, afterwards – and found him kneeling there twelve years later, face smooth, like _before_ , brown Jedi cloak wrapped around him, hood concealing his shorn head.

His hands were resting on his knees, palms turned upwards, fingers slightly curled. He was facing the tree, watching the wind rustle through the tender green leaves, and there was something raw and unbridled in his features – perhaps because there was nothing left to conceal them.

He was wearing his Jedi tunics once more, lightsaber clipped at his waist, and Padmé could feel him shiver slightly, next to her, as she knelt down herself.

“It has grown…”, she told him. “As we all have. But the flowers still elude us.”

They stood silent, for a while. And then Obi-Wan broke the silence:

“Perhaps we are not ready for them.”

His voice was hoarse, almost broken – the modulator. _Probably_.

“I do not think I will ever see them. But I can sense their future blossoms, in the Force. And they are lovely.”

He paused, once more, because his voice was giving out. And Padmé gently placed her hand on his forearm, watching the leaves rustle.

“I was a very arrogant young Queen, you know…”, she told him. “They are so rare. So precious. They reminded me of home, because they only grow there. So I simply took their name. _Amidala_.”

She shook her head, softly.

“People never guessed, somehow. They never asked. Too many robes and tiaras and ceremonials, too many handmaidens. Sometimes, when I think back on those years as a Queen, it seems to me I was hiding in plain sight all the time – slowly forgetting who I was in the process.

\- I do not think you forgot”, Obi-Wan whispered. “Your actions spoke for yourself. You never betrayed the ideas you stand for.”

She turned towards him, then. Watched his eyes spill, once, in silent shame, facing Qui-Gon’s memorial – and was again reminded of the Apprentice he had been.

“Neither have you”, she told him, softly. “But sometimes the price we pay, for hiding in plain sight, and doing our duty, seems more costly than the flowers of this tree.

\- I hope it was worth it”, Obi-Wan said, hands curled on his knees. “I pray the Force it was worth it, Senator Amidala.

\- And I believe it was, Master Kenobi”, she answered, thinking of soft, rosy petals, fragile like dew, yet beautiful as dawn, who would continue to grow and unfold, long after they would all be gone.

Always searching for the Light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the missing post yesterday - real life caught up and I just couldn't manage it. You'll have two stories, not one on Sunday, to compensate and allow me to be on schedule again. I hope you still liked this one, that is set right after the 'Rako Hardeen' arc. In another fic of mine called 'Mirrors of Silent Rain', Padmé seems a bit less understanding, yet I think you can read those along, because my opinion is that Padmé, unlike Anakin, very much understands the conflict and choices Obi-Wan made going "undercover" for the Republic. I searched for the name of those flowers symbolised on her dress, at the end of the Phantom Menace - it is unknown. So I simply decided it was Amidala, and that she chose her name because of them. I hope you still enjoy this story and wish you a wonderful December 10th :). Much love, Meysun.


	9. Free (Rex)

**20 BBY.**

All he had to do was raise his hand.

A sweep of his palm against the sensor, and the door would glide open – he just had to take a few steps, stand tall, helmet still firmly in hand, and deliver his report.

This was no foreign ship, this was the _Negotiator_ , almost as familiar to him as the _Resolute_. And the General he had to face was not Krell – there would be no contempt on his face, no delight in reminding him he was nothing but a number. _CT-7567_ , expandable and laboratory-bred.

Rex knew what he would find there – the dead body of a General who no longer deserved to be called a _Jetii_. And General Kenobi – kind-eyed, smart, shrewd, and calm.

Rex was not ready for his gentleness. For the light General Kenobi carried, even after days and days on this planet of darkness and horror. Of deaths, orchestrated and belittled because Krell _could_.

 _Vode_ killing _vode_ , adding numbers to casualties.

Rex had told Dogma he had to think for himself. That the _vode_ were not droids, but free-thinking Men. Free-thinking Men bound by duty and honour, just like _Jetii_ were _supposed to be_. Just like General Kenobi was.

But what was so deeply, utterly different between a _Jetii_ General and a Clone-Captain, was the fact that the former was not only free-thinking, but _free_.

And Rex did not want to begrudge General Kenobi _this_ – yet here he stood, trembling fingers clutched around his scratched helmet, heart heavy with the loss of his _vode_ , ears still ringing with the shot he had been unable to fire, because he had been _afraid_.

Duty, honour, free-will for Hardcase, Fives, Jesse and Tup, but no _freedom_.

Rex lifted his hand and let the door slide.

The lifeless body of Pong Krell was stretched out on a medical cot, but someone had spread out a dark brown cloak on his form, and his body and face were hidden from view, leaving only General Kenobi, standing upright at the body’s feet.

Rex met his eyes – and breathed out.

Because General Kenobi’s face was pinched and battered, a thin smudge of dirt streaking his cheekbone. There was no misplaced pity in his grey eyes – but there was the echo of the horror Rex _still_ felt, as well as steely resolve.

And _pain_.

“General”, Rex began, but then his voice failed him, because Waxer’s face was suddenly before him, clad in white and golden, a last silent tear running down his cheek.

Something warm wrapped itself around his chest – not squeezing, rather like an outstretched palm, and Rex realized it was the _Jetii_ General, reaching out for him. For the Man he was, weaving a link between them through that Force Rex could not really feel, but was part of himself as well.

“I told Boil”, General Kenobi said, very softly. “I told the whole Ghost Company. I told the Jedi Council. And Captain, as sure as I stand here before you, I will tell the Chancellor himself.

\- What about… Dogma?”, Rex managed to grit out, voice rough but posture still impeccable. “They will court-martial him. And they will kill him.

\- Not if the Jedi Council proves that Pong Krell must have been unbalanced for a very long time. Then the blame will fall on the one who let Krell stay in command, in place of General Skywalker.

\- But… sir…”

Rex stared at him, golden eyes growing wide, heart beating wildly.

“Do not worry, Rex. The order to appoint Krell on Umbara came from the Senate. And the one working along with Krell…

\- That would be _you_ , sir – but you are not to blame!

\- Oh, I think I am…”, General Kenobi said, very softly. “And, as much as it pains me, I think I have grown quite… indispensable to the Senate. So you see, my dear Captain, they can blame me as much as they like, I am afraid I will still remain exactly where I am. And Dogma will be spared.

\- General… He jammed your communications. He lied to you. There was no way, _no way_ you could have known it was an ambush!

\- But I knew _Krell_.”

The _Jetii_ stood very upright, slightly shorter but so _determined_. Calm, yet burning with an icy fire Rex had learned to respect.

“Our Code teaches us forgiveness. Belief in redemption. I trust the Force to know what to do with his remains, and I will not let the words I speak now cloud his journey. But I have experienced Pong Krell’s cruelty, a very long time ago. And I _still_ let him take command. I still chose to believe he might have changed, because, as he said, I was _naive_.”

The warm presence against Rex’s chest was still there. And the Captain stepped forward, until he stood next to the General. Turning his back to Krell’s body. Fingers finally loosening their deadly grip around his helmet.

“What did he do to you, sir?”, Rex asked softly.

The flagship was buzzing softly around them. It was the only sound beside their breathing, and the hum of the ventilation system.

“He tried to choke me to death when I was six years old”, the General replied, voice calm, but Rex felt the warmth against his chest quiver slightly. “He was teaching us hand-to-hand combat. And I… was afraid. He was frightening me like… nothing I had ever experienced before. He thought I was weak, you see. That the Temple should be rid of late arrivals like me. He kept ignoring my yielding signals, and one day, as he was teaching us headlocks, he squeezed and would not stop until my… the one who would become my Master barged in and freed me.”

Silence fell again around them. And Rex _realized_ , then, that he was not alone in carrying the tremendous weight of what just happened. That General Kenobi knew, in his very _bones_ , what it felt like to be helpless, forced to obey without being able to retaliate. That the child he had been had known what it felt like to be _freed_ from oppression, but that the _Jetii_ he had become had never sought revenge – only fairness. Peace.

“He had no right to do that, General”, Rex said, aloud and firmly.

“No. He had no right to use Clones as bait. No right to lead so many men to their deaths”, the _Jetii_ replied, but Rex shook his head.

“He had no right to hurt and doubt you”, Rex answered, softly, and the General looked up at him, with a surprised, almost startled look. “You make us proud. Proud to serve what we have been made for.

\- I do not think of you as _made for_ , Rex”, Kenobi let out, facing him with that earnest, determined look Rex was so familiar with. “I think you are sentient Men, just like I am. I think you matter. And if the Republic is willing to condemn Dogma, then it must be willing to condemn _me_ , as well.”

_Me sol mav, an mav._

The Mando’a words echoed softly through the Force between them, and Rex knew. That, just like General Skywalker, they were all one for the _Jetii_ General. Far from expendable.

Esteemed, and worthy to be trusted.

He stayed next to the _Jetii_ General, standing vigil grimly, back turned yet looking ahead. Facing his actions, the deaths, the losses, the defiance – knowing than he was more than a number, more than just the 501st Legion’s Captain, but someone determined to fight for a greater purpose.

 _CT-7567_ did not need to be _freed_.

Rex already was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my dears and happy December 11th to all of you. This angsty piece - because let's face it, there are angsty bits in this Calendar, because angst is wonderful fic-material - is set right after the Umbara arc. The event Obi-Wan speaks of takes place in my own headcanon, and can be read in my story 'Blossoms In The Wind' here : https://archiveofourown.org/works/24445840/chapters/58988785.   
> The fact that Obi-Wan tries to save Dogma is also completely headcanon material, because I'm Jetii-naive and love the idea that Obi tries to save everyone <3\. The Mando'a means : "If one is free, all are free" and I'm sorry if there are mistakes -- I'm such a language freak, this brought me back to the days I was trying to write Khuzdûl for my Thorin fics :)!!! 
> 
> Rex was such an interesting and difficult character to write - and he is truly an amazing one. I hope he "sounded" right. I'm already boucing up with excitement for when I'll write Cody, but it won't be tomorrow - I think I'm ready for another time-jump :). Much love to all of you, take care, Meysun.


	10. Jasmine Indulgences (Jocasta Nu)

**36 BBY.**

Night was falling on Coruscant, and the lights in the Temple Archives had begun to dim in the unused areas, the holobooks casting their familiar cobalt lights on the alleys and seats.

Several nocturnal Jedi and Padawans were still researching quietly, and Jocasta Nu had escorted Master Windu to the Holocron Vault earlier. She had just seen him out and was about to retire to the backrooms where she had planned to do some quiet classification, when she heard a low sigh, coming from behind one of the computers.

Now, as a Chief Librarian, Jocasta Nu was taking great care to treat every Master, Knight, Padawan and Initiate equally – it did not mean, however, that _some_ did not hold a special place deep within her heart. This one especially – because he would have made an _excellent_ Archivist, yet young Kenobi was probably better of where he was.

The senior Padawan’s hair was somewhat raked up from running his hand through the spiky strands, and his braid brushed his chest as he shook his head, slowly, staring at the screen.

“Are you in trouble, dear?”, she asked him, and the young one’s frown cleared as he smiled at her, bowing his head respectfully.

“Good evening, Madame Nu.

\- Good evening, my dear. Anything I can do for you?”

Obi-Wan shook his head, a playful look crossing his grey eyes.

“Tell my esteemed Master to be less laconic, perhaps?

\- Why - his reports are among the most detailed we get here…”

Her eyes sparkled and the boy raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

“That’s because they are signed Jinn/ _Kenobi_ ”, he muttered, and Jocasta raised a hand to her chin, adopting a pensive pose.

“Hmm… I had indeed become aware of a notable change of style, ever since Hosnian Prime – although that one might have been a late Dooku/Jinn. Shortly after, then, to our _utter_ delight here.

\- Well, he delights in them as well. They are perfect props for teacups, shells, and plants, as my Master daily demonstrates.”

There was fondness in the boy’s voice, though, and the ghost of a smile around his lips – Jocasta well knew how close Obi-Wan felt to Qui-Gon, and it warmed her heart.

“Jasmine?”, she asked him, and the boy’s eyes lightened up.

“That would be wonderful, Madame Nu. But I do not mean to…

\- Oh, hush… It’s already brewed. No trouble at all.”

That little ritual had started years ago, when he was just a young Padawan, still reeling with the joy of having finally being chosen. Obi-Wan had been throwing himself mind, body and soul into his apprenticeship, and had often spent hours in the Archives, preparing their missions or fulfilling assignments.

The young one had a very shrewd, critical mind, and would often seek for the _deeper_ layers when he researched – and Madame Nu dearly enjoyed a good challenge. They had sometimes spent hours bent upon holobooks or delving into data, and she had quickly found out that Obi-Wan shared her love for jasmine tea as well as knowledge.

Night found them both behind Obi-Wan’s computer, hands wrapped around the refined, light green bowls Jocasta always used for their _jasmine indulgences_ , as he called them.

“I see”, Jocasta commented dryly. “Heading for Pamarthe? Any specific information you require…?

\- Master Qui-Gon said all was in his previous report. Well, all is _short_.”

She chuckled, quietly, strolling down the report, that was indeed sparse:

_“Jinn, Pamarthe._

_Port IAS = Force Inh or Slvt._

_Dex tbt._ _Enthusiastic ppl & pilots +++._

_Enjoyed bridges. LF strong here. NMTT.”_

“I confess I cannot make this out. Is it even Aurebesh?

\- Oh, it is Jinn-Aurebesh, most certainly. Shall I translate _? Jinn, Pamarthe. Port-In-A-Storm appears to be strong enough to be used either as Force-Inhibitor or Solvent, I really must tell Dex. The people here are enthusiastic and very skilled pilots. The Living Force is strong here. The bridges connecting the islands are wooden and tricky to cross, I enjoyed it very much. Nothing more to tell_.”

The boy sighed, and looked up to her, shaking his head again. And Jocasta could not help it – she placed her teacup on the desk and enjoyed a silent, though hearty laugh.

“Oh my dear… I am afraid you will have to act as a decoder a while longer.

\- So it would seem”, Obi-Wan answered, yet the same fondness was warming his words.

“And what did you need to look up, Obi-Wan?

\- Well… It seems that some pilots here were recruited by the Hutts. They might, or might not, according to various sources, have attacked several cargos around Pamarthe. Since Master Qui-Gon has already been there, eleven years ago, the Council thought it wise to send us investigate the matter. I guess I just wanted to… be prepared. Learn how the Pamarthen pilots live and think.

\- Your Master would advise you to search their Force-signatures…

\- I know”, Obi-Wan sighed. “We practise it, every mission. The problem is – Master Qui-Gon reads them to perfection. And our bond is – strong. So, most of the time, it feels like I am reading his impressions of them, not their signatures. So, I… I try to cross sources. Also because… Force-signatures can be tricky. If we are harbouring strong feelings ourselves.”

The boy placed a finger on the rim of the bowl, tracing the circle softly. Obi-Wan’s shields were always tightly woven, but with those he felt at ease, he allowed some feelings to seep through. And Jocasta sensed some insecurity in the young one, always chasing perfection, always doubting himself.

“Emotions, and knowledge. Both are ways towards understanding. Now, _combining_ them, my boy… that is the best way to get to the bottom of things. And I think I might have something for you here – one of our Jedi pilots left quite a few useful notes about Pamarthe, in one of his logbooks. It is not long. Perfect to be read during hyperspace travels.”

The smile Obi-Wan flashed her was radiant – insecurities and doubts vanishing with the suddenness and optimism of the young.

“Thank you, Madame Nu.

\- Off to bed, young one”, she ushered, collecting his cup. “I’ll fetch it for you. Get that computer off and those data-pads closed.”

He bowed, and she went to retrieve the logbook, adding a map of Pamarthe as well for good measure. And if, between those items, she slid a small holobook containing the last volume of a novelist Obi-Wan loved, and had not read yet, well… The Chief Librarian was fair to every Jedi – but some were favourites.

As others, like Dooku, had been – and still were, in the youngest and most hidden parts of Jocasta’s heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just love writing Jocasta... :). I love the Jedi Archives, and shamelessly indulged in more Obi and Qui-Gon feels, because guess what? I love them too :). Now, if you'd just know how much more time I spent searching for a plausible planet for their mission, you would laugh! But I finally found one that was not too much known and quite interesting. Port-In-A-Storm is, according to Wookieepedia, such a pungent drink that Han Solo himself did not dare drink it, and used it once for solvent. It didn't frighten Chewbacca, though... So much for anecdotes, have a lovely late December 12th everyone! Much love, take care, Meysun.


	11. Quite The Jedi Now (Dexter Jettster)

**32 BBY.**

“Deeeeex, two more nerfburgers, honey!"

"Going!”, Dex shouted back, four arms working deftly to chop, stir, cook and spice between his two huge stores.

Dexter Jettster never expected to end up here, of all places, but it was a happy one. Safer than Subterrel, way less risky than the Corellian Trade Spine, with just as much interesting encounters.

And CoCo Town was as good a place as any to earn some credits, if one knew how to choose one’s friends and droids. FLO had been one of Dex’s best investments, and Hermione… Hermione was a jewel.

“Dex?"

"Yes, sweetie?”

Hermione laughed – that warm laugh Dex liked so much, because that woman… That woman was more than his associate. She was the second half of the Diner, one that Dex could not bear to part with. Luckily, Hermione did not mean to, and Dex smiled a toothy grin at her.

“I think there are two people you’ll want to meet, out there."

"Hmmm…”

He handed her the full plates, and swiped his hands on his greasy apron, then followed her out of the kitchen.

“Obi-Wan!”

Dex was hugging him before his friend could even great him back. His two upper arms wrapped themselves around Obi-Wan’s frame – that one seemed to get thinner every time they met - and Dex squeezed, hearing his friend laugh quietly, slender hands patting his back, grey eyes sparkling.

“Well, whaddya know?! Are you growing a beard now? Doesn’t it suit you – aren’t you quite the Jedi now, Obi-Wan…"

"Hello, Dex”, Obi-Wan’s voice was as warm as his eyes. “Meet Anakin Skywalker."

"Ooooh…”

Dex released Obi-Wan from his grip and looked down at the small, sandy-haired boy who had been staring at him, a fascinated and somewhat wary expression on his face.

“Hello, little one… I’m Dex."

"I know”, the little one answered, voice more confident than his stance. “Master Obi-Wan told me all about you. I know you’re a Besalisk. And that you like hugs. And that you make the best food ever on Coruscant. And…"

"Weeeell, someone has been talking, I see…”

Dex winked at them, and then he ushered them towards a bench.

“Take a seat, take a seat. Hermione is delighted, Obi-Wan, she was speaking about you just the other day…"

"Is that a _WA-7 droid_?!”

The little boy was beaming with excitement, and Obi-Wan placed a hand on his back.

“Anakin… Dex was talking to us."

"Oh, never mind, kid, go and talk to FLO, she loves getting some attention!"

"Wizard!!!!”

The kid bounced out of his chair, and Obi-Wan watched him get up to the droid and strike up a conversation, dropping to a crouch in front of FLO, who soon started to beep and whistle happily, talking back in her mechanical voice.

“Apologies, Dex… Anakin is quite taken in with droids – he takes them apart and improves them, you see… I didn’t tell him about FLO, he wouldn’t have stopped pressing to come here otherwise…"

"And do you need a little apprentice for that, Obi-Wan?”

Dex had slid into the booth, facing his friend, voice gently chiding. He watched the young Jedi’s eyes cloud slightly – his face was still so open, despite the longer hair and the stubble grazing his cheeks.

“I am sorry, Dex”, Obi-Wan said, voice low. “I… There was so much…"

"I know. I was glad you told us, though. Wouldn’t have wanted to read about it in the tabloids, or on the Holonet.”

Obi-Wan shook his head, and Dex realised that, despite his calm face, his friend was very close to tears. So he simply extended one of his big hands, clasped Obi-Wan’s arm, and squeezed.

“He wouldn’t have wanted you to grieve”, he said. “But he did grieve, as well, whenever he lost someone close. Came here to drink and numb himself, when his first Apprentice passed away. And that’s when you came, and met me."

"I remember”, Obi-Wan answered, voice rough.

“You drew FLO and Hermione on a coaster. And it became our logo. It’s still there, you know."

"Yes”, Obi-Wan whispered, smiling up at him. “So you keep reminding me, Dex…"

"Because I’m so kriffing proud a _Jedi_ took the trouble to help me out!”

Dex flashed him a toothy grin and watched the sadness withdraw slowly from Obi-Wan’s face. Now, all that remained was getting some food and drink into him. He owed it to Jinn’s memory – wouldn’t want to see his former Apprentice lose his health and strength.

“Master? FLO says all the food here is good, but I don’t know what to choose! I don’t know all the words written there…”

Anakin had climbed the bench and was pushing a menu towards them, all but barrelling into Obi-Wan’s side, small hand gripping the back of his Master’s tunic – a very un-Jedi child, indeed, but a sweet kid, smiling radiantly at Dex.

“Anakin…”, Obi-Wan sighed. “You don’t need to bump into people like that, do you? What about…"

"Sorry, Master”, the child interrupted, once more, and Obi-Wan turned towards him, tucking his Padawan braid behind his ear, meeting his eyes.

They probably exchanged a few mental words in that Jedi way of theirs, because the child seemed to calm down, taking a deep breath, turning slightly to sit down properly on the bench. Obi-Wan lifted his hand, placing his palm on Anakin’s neck, stroking his hair in a gesture Dex remembered from Qui-Gon, and placed the menu in front of the little boy.

“Try to read them, Anakin. You can ask Dex, if you have any questions. That is… if we are not keeping you?"

"Oh no – everyone here is served, and if I’m needed, the Mistress is going to call me anyway."

"Who’s the Mistress?”, Anakin asked, blue eyes wide with curiosity.

“Me, little one”, Hermione answered, winking at him – she had been gathering cutlery from the boot next to them and bent above the bench’s backrest to kiss Obi-Wan on the cheek.

“Hello, sweetie. I’ve missed you. So has Ivy. Did I tell you she dyed her hair _green_? What kind of a colour is that?"

"One of Jabba’s slave’s hair was _purple_ ”, Anakin mumbled, and Dex’s eyes shot up to Obi-Wan, whose hand had shifted unconsciously to the little boy’s shoulder in mute concern.

Hmm. There was a Tatooine story behind it all, then. And, if Dex was not mistaken, this sunny little boy was so very un-Jedi because he _had not been_ , for a very long time. No, if Dex still read body-languages correctly, the fact that a kid knew about slavery and was currently hanging out with an over-protective Obi-Wan meant that the little one had probably gotten rid of his own chip quite recently.

Obi-Wan’s eyes met his, beseechingly, but Dex was no unfeeling idiot, and knew when to keep his big mouth shut.

“Nerfburgers are the best, kid. But only if I’m the one making them."

"With spices?”, Anakin asked, smiling that infectious grin at him, and Dex laughed.

“Of course. Who do you take me for?"

"Wizard!”

Dex soon left them to prepare two of the biggest plates he could. But through the kitchen’s window, he watched them interact – Obi-Wan and his little, lively Apprentice who was prattling non-stop and making him smile. He watched his friend answer his questions patiently, pointing out things to him, encouraging him to read the menu and practise his reading – he looked so calm in his brown cloak, so grown-up without his braid and with that growing beard…

“Quite the Jedi, now”, Dex muttered.

And then he brought the plates to them – determined to feed them, and feed them _well_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my dears... I'm always so late in posting, it's quite ridiculous, frankly. I hope you had a wonderful December 13th! I promise you will get your 24 little Advent stories, it's just that sometimes I write slower than I would like to... Hope you liked that one as well! So, Ivy is short for Iphigenia, who is Hermione Bagwa's daughter. She was a baby when Obi-Wan first came at the Diner at twelve years old, and is now a fourteen year-old teenager :). The story of that encounter is also in my fic Blossoms In The Wind - Dex's Diner is a wonderful set for fanfiction, and the scene in the movie one of my favourites :). Take care, much love, Meysun.


	12. Never-Ending Embers (Vokara Che)

**22 BBY.**

The Force had rarely felt so bereft – almost two-hundred signatures vanishing like shooting-stars, becoming one once more with its stream, leaving them all quivering.

Of the two-hundred-twelve Jedi led by Master Windu on Geonosis, thirteen only had returned, most of them wounded in body and soul. The whole Temple was grieving, and Vokara Che had been up for two days in a row now, taking care of the injured and supervising the mind-healers.

It had been a carnage – a carnage orchestrated by one who had once roamed this very Temple, and it added to the terrible feelings of loss and hurt. For the first time ever, Jocasta had closed the Archives, standing tall behind its closed walls yet grieving silently.

The whole Jedi Council was reeling, the young Padawans walking around wide-eyed, staying close to their Masters, and the Initiates were kept into the crèche by their shocked and exhausted crèche-masters.

And Vokara Che _burned_.

She burned with a fire very few could understand – because it was not rage. Not even indignation. It was the opposite of anger – it was a fierce love for what was living and should be kept whole, what had crumbled and should have stayed hale, what could die and should stay alive.

Destruction was so easy and had nothing to do with power. It was contempt for the Living Force, devastation confused with glory… it was dark and cold and lonely and pitiful, and Vokara called onto that righteous fire, that spark keeping her head tall and her heart warm, and urged herself on.

She changed bandages. She ran hands and lekku against broken body-parts. She talked, gently, to the confused and fevered ones, leading them into healing trances. She supervised the sedation of those needing Bacta, trusting silently in her colleagues and friends in the Halls, the many Healers and their Padawans.

A semblance of calm seemed to have returned, that night. The Force still felt _robbed_ , echoing with losses. But those who had passed were one with the Light now, and the injured ones were stable.

Almost.

Vokara sighed as she stopped in front of the room where Padawan Skywalker was still recovering from the surgery and Bacta. They had managed to clean and salvage the stump of his arm and had done minute work on its nerve-endings to connect a sensitive, mechanic prosthetic limb he would learn to use – hopefully avoiding phantom-pain.

The boy was still groggy, and deeply shocked. Obi-Wan had told her he had endured Force-lightning, but his heart seemed to have suffered no damage, although Anakin still had to wake thoroughly.

She entered the room, determined to check on Anakin’s stump and Obi-Wan’s injuries, and shook her head when she saw Kenobi’s bed still unmade, the Jedi Knight sitting close to his Padawan’s head.

Obi-Wan’s eyes were closed, and his hand was hovering close to Anakin’s face, inches away from his hair, resting on his pillow. The boy was asleep, brow smooth but tear-tracks still clear on his cheeks, and Obi-Wan was plainly struggling to stay conscious.

“And what, exactly, do you think you are doing?”, Vokara Che asked him, voice low, placing a hand on his trembling back.

Obi-Wan opened his eyes, and the forlorn pain she read there for a few seconds was so deep she had to swallow.

“It feels so wrong”, he whispered. “He lost his mother, Vokara… He keeps… he keeps waking up and calling for her. He sees her dying in his arms. And… I told him _dreams pass in time_. But they don’t. I should have known.”

He looked so young, grey eyes wide and glassy. They had cut his hair to tend to a head-wound and it no longer curled on his shoulder, leaving his neck free, reminding her of the Padawan he had been.

Vokara still remembered the tiny-limbed child Master Yoda had brought here – it hardly seemed believable that thirty years had passed since, yet some things never changed. Obi-Wan was still stubborn, with shields of iron, and she was still determined to tend to him.

“Obi-Wan, if you do not lie down, this is going to end in a Bacta-tank.”

“He keeps waking up. He lost… he lost his _arm_. My Padawan lost his arm.”

And the collected, cool-headed Jedi Knight Obi-Wan had become, who had discovered a Clone Army, tracked a bounty hunter to the Petranaki arena on Geonosis and faced his own Grandmaster, lowered his head, curled his hands into fists and wept, silently.

Vokara Che stepped up to him and wrapped a lekku around his shoulders, like so long ago – and she felt his sorrow, his guilt because _he had not been fast enough to stop him, not strong enough to resist Dooku, had been forced to watch as his Padawan battled his Grandmaster_ …

Obi-Wan’s skin was hot under her touch and she tentatively probed at his wounds, through the Force, finding his arm and thigh still inflamed.

“He keeps projecting terrible images. But something is wrong. I would have sensed so many deaths. I do not understand.”

“You can ask him, Obi-Wan… When he is recovered. For now, you should let him sleep. And get those dressing changed.”

“I cannot leave him.”

He was already shaking his head, but she gently placed a hand on his brow, checking for the heat raging there.

“No. You cannot. And that is why you have to rest and heal. Dark times are coming, Obi-Wan. You can sense it, and so can I. It is going to be a war, and we will need every spark and light we can gather.”

“The Clones… they all look like Jango Fett”, Obi-Wan whispered. “Thousands of them, all alike. But not in the Force. So many died… I do not understand.”

“Neither do I. But we take care of those who live. We try to protect, shield, and heal. We bridge rifts with care – and let the Force guide us.”

“Let the Force guide us”, Obi-Wan repeated, hand stroking his Padawan’s cheek briefly, before he let Vokara help him up, guiding him towards his bed.

He did not flinch, when she removed his bandages and changed the dressings, applying Bacta gel and clean compresses, before she worked on his shoulder, projecting gentle, healing Force-currents towards the injury. By the time she reached his thigh, he had fallen into a heavy, fever-induced sleep that left him shuddering, but finally _resting_.

“No Bacta tank yet”, Vokara whispered, becoming aware of a faint rustle behind her and turning to watch a bleary-eyed Anakin peer up at her.

“Is he asleep?”, the boy asked, voice rough with what could be both sleep and pain. “How is he?”

“His wounds are serious, but there should not be any long-term consequences. He should be on his feet in a few days.”

“He feels… upset”, Anakin voiced, frowning and distractedly flexing the fingers of his mechanical hand, trying to get used to it.

“He is very worried about you”, Vokara answered. “Watching you battle a Sith, being unable to intervene… It has woken some painful memories he will need to face. But your Master is very resilient.”

“I know”, Anakin said, quietly. “He was afraid, though. To face Dooku. He said he wasn’t _strong_ enough.”

“Dooku is not just a Sith. He is a Fallen Jedi. He knows the Light, yet chose to turn himself away from it. Were Dooku still a Jedi, you would be surprised to see just how alike they could have been, in the Force. Qui-Gon dreaded it, and Obi-Wan…”

“But Obi-Wan could _never_ be like him! There’s nothing alike between them, not even close!”

“No. But it could have been. And those possibilities… Those paths who will never come to be… They are powerful allies of compassion, when you thread the Light, and mighty tools of destruction, when you chose the Dark.”

Anakin lowered his gaze, looking at the metallic cogs of his mechanic hand, flexing the fingers rhythmically, eyes filling slowly with tears Vokara Che knew better than to address. 

“Come. Let us leave Obi-Wan to his rest, and see how that arm of yours is doing.”

Oh, she was burning. Burning for those deaths, those injuries, those wounds that marred souls and disturbed carefully achieved balance. But Vokara did not hate, did not condemn and did not judge – she simply tried to understand. The Dark and the Light. The pain, the fear and the hurt.

For compassion was a mighty spark, a never ending-ember in the night that would not be so easily extinguished – and the way she had chosen to embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello dear ones and happy late December 14th to you! This one was writting directly from my very heart - as a big shoutout for all the healers and patients out there, because there are no stronger embers for me than those wonderful moments where we truly meet. And care. Especially in those times <3.
> 
> This one takes place directly after the first battle of Geonosis, and the number of the Jedi squad that came to the rescue was really 212. Just like Obi-Wan's legion. So you can be sure that, in the peri- and post Geonosis fic I *ache* to write in the Still Green Universe, he has chosen this number as a tribute, because... Obi <3.
> 
> Take care everyone and thank you so much for all the reviews, nice words, kudos and 'reblogs' on Tumblr I keep getting, you are really wonderful! Stay safe, much love, Meysun.


	13. Odds And Numbers (Commander Cody)

**22 BBY.**

Commander Cody did not believe in chance or fate. Those were for the dreamers, those General Kenobi called _enthusiasts_ – people who believed there was a greater purpose in everything.

Cody had been taught that safety resided in numbers. In calculating the outcomes, studying the battlefield, placing the troopers carefully, according to their abilities.

And of course, his training on Kamino had also taught him that strength was achieved in _brotherhood_. Adhering to values like honour, loyalty and duty. Taking care of one’s _vode_ , making sure they stayed focused, strong and reliable.

Cody did not believe in chance or fate – but General Kenobi believed in what the _Jetii_ called the Force, and over those first months at his side, Cody had tempered some of his views with what the General called _nuances_.

His _Jetii_ General believed in the Force, was able to feel it all around them and use it when he fought, spinning so fast the eye could not follow, deflecting blaster bolts almost before they were shot and leaping like he had wings. He was able to will the pain away, to heal light injuries and to stay without eating and drinking for _days_. But mostly, General Kenobi, like every other _Jetii_ , was able to sense feelings and thoughts in the Force, to absorb or reflect them, and to read what he called _signatures_.

The first time they had met, Cody had stood to attention, back rigid and gaze straight, studying the _Jetii_ who was to become his General – face seemingly blank while his mind _assessed_ him.

 _Jetii_ General Obi-Wan Kenobi was slightly shorter than him, but not small. He was lean, but not frail, grave but not intimidating, yet Cody quickly calculated that with those linen tunics and thin trousers and layers of plain fabric, the _Jetii_ wouldn’t stand a chance on the battlefield.

That was before he saw him in action, fighting and spinning before him like _nothing_ Cody had ever witnessed before. General Kenobi was not one to linger behind, not one to leave wounded on the field either – and after that first battle together, where the _Jetii’_ s tunic had soiled with dust and blood that was partly his own, both had struck what the General called a _compromise_.

 _Jetii_ General Obi-Wan Kenobi would be wearing a chest plate, pauldrons and vambraces, as well as blacks and boots, like a _vode_. But he would keep a _Jetii_ tabard, and his _Jetii_ belt, and stay without helmet or blaster – because he had his lightsaber.

Cody did not believe in chance, or wonder, but after two months at General Kenobi’s side, he had come to the conclusion that this Force the _Jetii_ worshipped did not work randomly. It was something like _tipping the odds_ , changing them to fate, then to facts once more. Or rather, making the odds clearer around them, allowing some _trust_ to sip below Cody’s carefully kept armour.

He had come to trust General Kenobi. And not because he was a _Jetii_. But because the _Jetii_ he was did not only rely upon the Force. General Kenobi did not just jump into battle carelessly – he always made sure to know everything he could about the field and the people they were dealing with. He had not just one plan, he often conceived at least another, if not two – and he _worked_. Tirelessly. Always improve his knowledge in battle and strategics, always seeking for the peaceful solution whenever they were on a mission, training whenever he could to perfect his combat skills – and teaching, of course.

That impulsive former _hibir_ of his who was defying odds all the times, driving the General nearly insane – yet Cody knew just how much he cared for General Skywalker, whom he had raised like a child of his, until he became a friend. 

And that _nehutyc_ little Commander, who had not learned yet that some odds could not be defeated, but was so endearing in that childish belief.

“She will learn. She is young still”, General Kenobi had told him, after they had evacuated her and her remaining troops on Felucia in a last-minute rescue – but Cody read his eye-language now and had seen sadness and worry and care there.

Just like that day General Kenobi had learned about the way the Kaminoan made the _vode_ age faster, so that they could be battle-ready at ten. That day, the _Jetii_ had paled, body getting very still at Cody’s side, who had not, _ever_ , spared a second thought about it.

Seeing his _Jetii_ -General so upset had made _something_ in him stir, though. And so, being assigned to a _Jetii_ who loved words and kept weighing them with such care, Cody had begun to think about them as well.

Words completed numbers, sometimes – they defined things better, like looking through electrobinoculars.

_Enthusiasts. Nuances. Signatures. Compromise._

Cody had lost count of those words opening his inner world like small crevices. Some made him think. Some made him reconsider. And some left him in a state of silent wonder, because it felt like finally putting a name, an explanation to some patterns he had studied silently.

“Serendipity”, General Kenobi told him, one night, as they were sitting together on the _Negociator_ ’s bridge, going through medical supply-lists.

“It means: found by chance, by accident or coincidence – not by reasoning.”

Cody raised an eyebrow, face carefully lowered, but General Kenobi smiled at him, because he could read him through the Force.

“Not something you like, my dear Commander. Yet that is how the precursor of Nysillin was discovered. A researcher one forgot a box containing a colony of germs into a cupboard, and it became mouldy. When she finally remembered that box, she realised the germs had not grown. Rather, the mould seemed to have prevented them from colonising the box – so she tried to isolate it and to study it better. And that’s how we are able to use Nysillin now.”

“So… if she hadn’t forgotten that box…”, Cody said, slowly, frowning down at his data-pad and at the carefully drawn lists.

“Well, yes, Commander. Perhaps we would stand very differently now…”

Cody stayed silent a while more, then he raised his face and met General Kenobi’s calm, shrewd grey eyes.

“Is it something you like, sir? That… _serendipity_ you just spoke of.”

The Jetii’s eyes turned soft, something very _intimate_ sweeping briefly through his features.

“It is a word that is very dear to me, yes. You see, Commander, I do not think there are such things as immutable fates. I think every little act, and word, and thought probably plays a part into shaping the world around us. But I also think we will all remind blind, either wholly or partially, until we join the Force. So, serendipity… I like to think it is the Force’s way to give us a nudge.”

He smiled at him, wrapping his hand around his mug of tea.

“Yet it is but that: a nudge. We still have to deepen the course it shows us, and steer ourselves in the right direction.”

Cody nodded, slowly, assessing and processing the General’s words. And somehow, that night, working very late along his _Jetii_ ’s General side, another crevice opened in him, allowing few, precious words to pour out as well.

That night, he told the General that every _vode_ had, in fact, something more than a number. Something they kept secret, only known by batch-brothers, because numbers were long and dull and hard to remember when one was just a kid.

“It is not a name. It’s… something that happened that made us laugh, or a special event involving a _vode_. It’s… I think it’s like the nudge you spoke about before, sir.”

The General’s eyes were still bright and alert, despite the late hour. His hair was tousled, though, because he had run his fingers several times through his hair, trying to rouse himself as they completed report after report. The Kaminoans would have brought him a comb, wordlessly radiating disapproval for everything that was not neat or symmetrical. But Cody just thought it made one want to _speak_ to him, knowing one would not be judged.

“A nickname?”, the General questioned, softly, and Cody’s heart _soared_ , for a brief second, leaving him almost helpless in the feeling’s wake.

“A nickname”, he repeated, tasting the word like some unknown flavour.

General Kenobi nodded, face growing thoughtful, eyes gentle as so often.

“Your signatures are so different, Commander. You may look alike – but I can assure you are not, in the Force. You all have a very unique way to _be_. And to become, as we all do.”

“They call me Cody. And it’s not Mando’a, even though _Kote_ … _Kote_ is another name they call me now. Because…”

“Because you are a fine leader, Commander. One that gave much glory to his troops – along with pride and strength.”

His General had a unique way of praising, too. It never looked like flattery. It just looked like facts, spoken with something warm Cody was finally identifying as _care_. And _respect_.

“Cody didn’t come from _Kote_ , though, sir. It came from me… well… always telling my _vode_ that safety was in numbers. Not just odds. And so they called me _Codes_ , first, but quickly switched to Cody. I think only Rex remembers _Codes_ , now, sir.”

General Kenobi smiled at him, and Cody almost smiled back, keeping his face straight just in time.

“I like all of these names, Commander. And I think… it is a wonderful thing to encourage, is it not? As much as I trust numbers and plans, as you so well know, I _do_ prefer addressing people by names or titles.”

That night, General Kenobi called him Cody for the very first time. Sometimes he would use his title, sometimes he would combine both. Cody himself did not call him _Obi-Wan_ – that was a name kept for _Jetii_ and non-battle-friends. Instead, he called him sir, General, or General Kenobi – it was enough.

Or perhaps, it was because, sometimes, there was no real word for the fissures and light shaping people. 

Sometimes, words and names were simply not enough – but infinite.

And deep inside, it made Cody smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Truly, this is the most holey Advent-Calendar I have ever seen (smiles sheepishly)... I am sorry dear ones! Work is really taking so much time right now, and I just don't keep up with the rythm on Mondays, Tuesdays and Wednesdays... However, I still have all the calendar-windows planned and I promise you will get them before December is out :).
> 
> Mando'a translations are : hibir (student), nehutyc (feisty), Kote (glory). The story of Nysillin is based on the real story of Fleming's discovery of Penicillin - but I decided that in Star Wars, the scientist was a *she* because kriff. A lot of women were also responsible for amazing discoveries, with or without serendipity, and sometimes never got the recognition they deserved.
> 
> I do hope you liked what Cody wanted me to write - I didn't plan the chapter that way at all, especially not the explanation for Cody's name, but our dear Commander insisted that he was a wary character who needed time and trust to let himself unfold, and... I let him speak :). Writing has those magic moments - I hope you will still enjoy this :). Much love, take care, Meysun.


	14. Tears Of Steel (Satine)

**20 BBY.**

Rain was falling on the streets, drenching the Coruscanti pavement, hushing Satine’s steps as she was hurrying towards the theatre, face hidden under her garnet cloak.

She had learned to navigate the city, to enjoy the bittersweet secrecy in walking those streets alone, unseen and unknown – that city where she should have been closest to _him_ but was only missing him more. Painfully and exquisitely.

Coruscant was his home, and the core of the war she fought against. The city where she defended neutrality, and where his Order resided, symbol of the Jedi and everything he embodied.

On Sundari, she could think of him. Here, it always felt like she was _remembering_ him. Who he once was, and who he was now. What they had both chosen to be for each other.

A small harbour in a storm of iron and steel.

Satine knew she loved him, because she cherished even that – the unique feeling of loss and mourning for what could never be only he was able to stir. Refining her heart. Her mind. Her very soul.

Satine nodded to the Twi’lek scanning her ticket, and entered the performance hall, finding her seat and sitting down on the soft, worn velvet. She took off her cloak, folding it on the backrest, running a hand through her damp curls.

No eyeliner, no blush, no elaborate hair-dressing – Satine Kryze was no Duchess that night. She was just a woman, come to that somewhat out-dated, nostalgic Coruscanti hall, to listen to Old Twi’lek poetry. She had found the tract by accident, lying on the floor next to one of the Senate’s dustbins, and had decided she would go.

Because Ryloth had suffered – had lost homes and people to this war. And though the planet had chosen its side, only poets seemed to remember that some losses could not be replaced. A tiny voice in the storm Satine felt compelled to hear.

The room was small, but the seats were almost filled. Soon the lights went out, shadows throwing long lines on the walls, bathing the scene in soft, almost tender rays.

A grey-skinned, elder Twi’lek was sitting on a piano stool – and there was something in his eyes that instantly reminded Satine of her father. It was the same love for what was truly beautiful. For words. For what was right.

She was breathing out and choking at the same time, she was sitting here on Coruscant, and remembering storms on Sundari, where she had lost everything and rebuilt everything.

“ _And you walked smiling –_

_Artless –_

_Delighted –_

_Dripping wet in the rain -_ ”

The Twi’lek was speaking the words softly, fingers caressing the keys, and Satine allowed tears to spring, falling silently on the ticket she was still holding.

“ _Remember that, my dear –_

_And don’t be angry if I talk to you –_

_I talk to all those I love –_

_Even if I’ve seen them only once –_

_I talk to all those who love –_

_Even if I don’t know them_ …”

She cried for the people who could have said these words. For those who had protected poets, musicians and warriors alike. She cried for the love in those lines, for the ideal it embodied – that exquisite sense of loss that _crushed_ and _hurt_ and _cleansed_ and _honed_.

_“Oh my dear –_

_What a senseless war –_

_What has happened to you now –_

_In this rain of iron – of fire of steel of blood –_

_And the one who held you in his arms –_

_Tightly, lovingly –_

_Is he dead, vanished, or maybe still alive…”_

She wept for Obi-Wan, who _was_ still alive, whose arms still sheltered her in rare, precious moments – because he _had_ been dead, had vanished only to return, telling her it was a lie, a ruse, another Jedi mission. Because the boy she had fallen in love with and who could have written these words was a warrior now. Willingly and despite himself – and she missed him. 

_“Oh my dear –_

_It is raining endlessly, like it rained before –_

_But it is not the same and everything is ruined –_

_It is a rain of mourning, terrible and desolate –_

_It is not even a storm anymore, of iron, of steel, of blood –_

_Just simple clouds that die like dogs –_

_Dogs that disappear, along the water -_

_And will decay, far away, far, far away from here –_

_Where there is nothing left.”_

Satine did not rise, when the song ended. She just sat, silent tears falling one after the other, on a ruined concert-ticket, and clapped her hands until her hands hurt. And the elderly, grey skinned Twi’lek kept singing, seemingly just for her, until Satine had no tears anymore.

Until she was breathing without choking, once more.

Because she could mourn and remember, yet move on and stand tall. As long as there were poets, and singers, and memories and rain.

She stayed seated even after the last applause, long after the lights returned, fingers tracing the edges of her ticket where the print had blurred. She stayed seated even when she heard soft footsteps behind her – because she was afraid to break that tiny link with the past.

With mourning and remembering.

She did look up, though, when gentle hands wrapped her cloak around her shoulders, when memories seemed to blur with the present, because _he_ was standing just here, grey-eyed and auburn-haired. Crouching before her, and brushing a damp curl from her wet cheek in a tender gesture she recalled.

“You are not there”, she whispered, yet his fingers traced her cheekbones, and they were warm, and alive, with calluses she remembered and were so very _him_.

“But I am”, Obi-Wan answered – and it was his voice, it was his very smell, the warmth of his chest and the soft, tender skin of his neck under her fingers.

He let her bury her face against his heart, and she could feel it beating, could smell the plain Jedi-temple soap mingling with _tea-leaves_ and _him_. He who was there, on leave or on a mission, Satine did not care, as long as he was there.

“I thought I was the only one sentimental enough to brave the storm for Old Twi’lek poetry, and yet…”

“Did you know I was there?”

She needed to know. Needed to know if he had seen her cry, sensed her sadness. Had been there all along, hiding once more.

“I was thinking of you”, Obi-Wan answered, quietly. “So I did not understand, at first. I thought the words had _evoked_ you.”

“How long are you here…?”, Satine asked, voice broken, and Obi-Wan circled her back with his arms, drawing her against him.

“Long enough to see you home”, he answered, chin brushing against her hair.

Satine breathed out, for a few heartbeats more. And then she drew back, throwing a trembling smile at him, not caring for the trace of fallen tears.

“ _In the rain?_ ”, she both quoted and asked.

And Obi-Wan brushed her cheeks and answered:

“ _Dripping water._ ”

She was smiling for real now, getting up, Obi-Wan raising with her in a fluid move, still holding her against him.

“ _Delighted._ ”, Satine whispered.

And Obi-Wan adjusted her cloak around her, and took her hand, leading her out of the room.

“But not _artless_ ”, he told her, softly.

Lovingly. Back in the Coruscanti streets, where the rain had stopped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dears, please forgive me for this, I confess I am crying myself.
> 
> The one responsible for my tears is the French Poet Jacques Prévert, who wrote the poem 'Barbara'. The lyrics the Twi'lek sings here are almost exactly the poem's, but it is a translation, and if you truly want to cry, you need to listen to the way the singer Serge Reggiani reads it on piano music on Youtube. It is simply perfect - and I guess I just wanted to share this gem with you. Because a lot of writers use 'La Vie En Rose' in their fics, but... as much as this song is part of our heritage, there are those that are not so well known but still deserve to be. So, if you like to sing 'Quand il me prend dans ses bras / Il me parle tout bas...', then I give you 'Rappelle-toi Barbara, il pleuvait sans cesse sur Brest ce jour-là / et tu marchais souriante, épanouie, ravie, ruisselante sous la pluie'. And all the rest of Prévert's words that marked my childhood.
> 
> To come back to Star Wars and its galaxy far, far away, from here, where everything is left (OK I stop), in my headcanon, Satine and Obi have a relationship that could be summarised as very rare moments of love without attachment. You can read more about them in my fics 'Night More Loving Than The Rising Sun', 'Towards The Light' and 'Mirrors of Silent Rain'. I certainly loved writing my own thoughts about love, relationships and attachment there.
> 
> This chapter is for all of you, but specifically for Tessiete who loves Obitine. Take care everyone, and tomorrow, I promise : no tears, time to pick a funny character! Much love, take care, Meysun (exceptional advocate of French poets today).


	15. Coming Back Down (Kix)

**20 BBY.**

“The _kriff_ , Master…”

General Skywalker’s annoyed words echoed from the medical fresher, topping the sound of water, and Kix sighed, eyes tracing the dirty trail of mud and blood leading to the shower.

It had been hard to distinguish any feature, let alone injury, under the layer of grime and blood and dirt covering General Kenobi’s face. The mission had gone completely sideways after barely a _day_ on the planet – thanks to a rockslide where General Kenobi had once more felt obliged to save half the regiment by Force-pushing the men along with General Skywalker out of the avalanche. Getting knocked off the mountainside and half buried under rocks himself. And staying that way for about twelve hours, because of course it had been night, making them unable to see and search for him properly.

General Skywalker had been _frantic_. But to be honest, Kix preferred frantic to the hot, angry way he had acted ever since General Kenobi had returned from his mission as Rako Hardeen. Himself and the _vode_ had felt between a rock and a hard place for weeks now, and seeing their General finally display something else than fury towards General Kenobi had felt reassuring in a sad, very odd way.

Of course, said General had been the one _literally_ caught under rocks – he had been conscious though, if not truly lucid, once they had found him, lips moving silently, mouthing words Kix couldn’t understand at first. Kenobi’s hair was matted with blood but, though the Jedi had obviously been sick several times, the eyes staring up at Kix and Skywalker had been bright.

“ _My charms are overthrown_ ”, Kenobi had been whispering, oblivious to Skywalker’s hand meeting his face. “ _What s-strength I have’s m-mine own_ …”

“Master, hang on, let me lift those rocks…”

Kenobi had just shuddered, letting out a quiet moan as Kix checked his pupils, muttering on: “ _Which is most faint; now t’is true, I m-must be here r-released b-by you_ …”

Kenobi had been trembling when Kix had finally been able to assess his body – field-scans were not the most precise, but the General must have managed to shield his body from the worst of the impact. He had a severe concussion, a broken collarbone and forearm, huge bruises on the chest and legs, hypothermia… and Force-exhaustion, according to General Skywalker.

General Kenobi tended towards downplaying his injuries, shielding himself behind sarcasm or joking. Even on Geonosis, he had always answered Kix questions clearly while hurt, his command on the Force enough to help him push through blood-loss and pain.

Here, however, General Kenobi had let Skywalker gather him in his arms like a child, mumbling incoherent words, without a sign of recognition. They had got him back to the ship as quickly as possible, and Kix had run a more thorough scan, fortunately confirming there was no inner injury.

He had allowed Skywalker to drag Kenobi to the showers, stabilizing him through the Force, and was determined to get the General clothed, lying down and monitored within minutes – but the quiet water sound and humming he was hearing did not look like _anything_ but trouble.

“Master, stop _splashing around_!”

Kix entered the showers to find an exasperated and quite damp General Skywalker holding a very wet General Kenobi, who had been stripped down to his briefs and was sitting down on the ground, hair plastered on his head by the shower-spray, uninjured hand running quietly through the stream, pushing water towards the drain.

“ _Raindrops f-falling on my head_ ”, General Kenobi was singing, sputtering slightly as water met his chin. “ _But t-that doesn’t mean my eyes will soon be t-turning red… Crying’s not for me_ …”

Kenobi looked up at Kix and smiled, with an expression of childish glee so _unlike_ him he winced. The water was brownish under him, the General sported various bruises and scratches, chest in an interesting hue of blue-green – but Kenobi simply _smiled_.

“ _’Cause I’m never gonna stop the rain by c-complaining_ ”, Kenobi sang, pitch and rhythm undisturbed by the water streaming on his body and face.

“He threw up twice, Kix. And he’s getting quite warm. He keeps singing and splashing like a kid!”

“General…”, Kix said, crouching before Kenobi, turning off the water and wrapping a towel around him. “General, can you hear me?”

The motion seemed to rouse Kenobi, who stopped singing and looked up at Kix, wincing slightly, grey eyes squinting in the light.

“Can you tell me your name?”

Kenobi’s hand moved, clutching the towel, wet head leaning against Skywalker’s shoulder in trusting, abandoning move that made Skywalker stiffen, then wrap an arm around Kenobi’s trembling shoulders.

“Obi… Obi-Wan K-Kenobi.”

“Very good. And can you tell me who you are?”, Kix asked, gently.

The General blinked, rubbing a bare foot against the wet tiles.

“I’m Master Jinn’s Padawan?”

The voice was thin, the question mark plain at the end. The General was getting pale and blinking, too, cheek leaning against Skywalker’s arm.

“Come on, Master…”, Skywalker urged him, keeping his arm still and placing a hand on Kenobi’s bouncing knee. “Shh… It’s alright. You can do this.

\- I’m… ah… I’m… I have a… a Padawan.”

Kenobi was frowning now, face scrunched up with pain and paling even further.

“And a G-Grand- Padawan. Anakin a-and Ahsoka. I’m a… I’m a… w-what am I, I’m a… I’m not sure… I’m… tired.”

Kix met Skywalker’s eyes and found his worry mirrored there, because General Kenobi never _ever_ complained and _never_ got confused. The hot skin and the relentless throwing up could be explained by the concussion, and yet…

“Let’s get him into a proper cot”, Kix ordered, and together with Skywalker, they helped General Kenobi up, into clean medical scrubs and lying down.

All along, the General stayed pliant and blinking, not even wincing when Kit placed an infusion line on the back of his hand.

“Do you know who I am, sir?”, Kix asked him, gently parting his wet hair to assess the head-wound he had quickly stapled on the field, and that looked clean enough to reassure him.

Kenobi’s face scrunched up once more, and after a few seconds of silence, Kix noticed a small drop of blood falling from his nose towards his lips.

“Shh, Master. No use of the Force for you. Not now… You can’t.”

Skywalker wiped the drop of blood away, with uncharacteristic gentleness, and Kenobi shuddered, eyes fluttering shut, features going lax as sleep claimed him, face tilting towards his former Padawan and friend.

It was then they noticed the two pin-shaped bruises on Kenobi’s neck.

“ _Stims_ …”, Skywalker sighed. “Of course. I couldn’t believe he was still conscious when we found him.”

“That one is older, though”, Kix observed, gently tilting Kenobi’s head to assess the skin better. “And there is another, on the other side.”

“You mean…”

Skywalker’s face turned dark as he frowned – and Kix felt his own chest tighten, because it all made sense, suddenly. General Kenobi’s alertness and quick reflexes, during the expedition, despite his previous lack of sleep and food – Kix knew, of course, but he was a _medic_ and Kenobi a Jedi.

Nothing to be done.

“He took them _before_ the mission?”

Skywalker looked slightly sick himself, now, and Kix sighed, taking Kenobi’s temperature and blood-pressure, inserting a saline bag on the infusion line.

“So it would seem”, he answered. “And I think he injected himself with another below that rock. Which, to be honest, was the right thing to do – but with all those stims it explains his confusion and the fever. He has to sleep it off and let his body get rid of them – since he cannot use the Force for a while.”

“Why would he _do_ such a thing? Obi-Wan _never_ uses stims when he can help it!”

Skywalker sounded upset and Kenobi made a soft sound in his sleep, a thin frown appearing between his eyes. Skywalker looked down, and ran his thumb across that worried line, watching it smoothen, shoulders dropping slowly.

“He’s not alright, is he? He’s…”

“No”, Kix said, very softly. “I think he is pushing himself. I think he tries to make up. For… you know.”

“That stupid, kriffing _idiot_ ”, Skywalker said, but there was no anger in his voice, just sadness. “I never asked _that_ of him. Quite the contrary, Kix. I wish… I wish he could draw limits. But he can’t.”

The dark frown was back, and Kix sighed, placing General Kenobi’s hand back on the covers.

“Then perhaps we should help him. As we did, before…”

Skywalker let out a breath, and then he placed a hand in Kenobi’s hair, combing through the auburn strands until they fell back properly on his forehead once more.

“Perhaps, Kix.”

He watched his former Master sleep, for a while, emotions battling on his face, and then the frown vanished, some lightness returning on his young features, and Skywalker looked up, a small smirk around his lips.

“He has a _fine_ singing voice, though…”

And, because of that smile, Kix let Skywalker sit next to his Master, fiddling with a small radio device. And when Kenobi woke up, after a few hours, still exhausted and confused, but less feverish, Kix pretended he did not hear Skywalker ask him if he knew the song playing.

“It’s a nice one, quite a success on Coruscant, listen to this: _I’ve been hyp-no-tized, by the lights!_ Come on, Master, sing along, I know you can… _But I’m coming home_ …”

Skywalker’s voice was slightly off-pitch, but warm and strong. It made Kenobi smile softly and turn his face towards him.

“ _I’m coming back down tonight_ ”, he whispered, grey eyes searching for Skywalker’s, who never stopped looking at him, and let out a slight laugh.

“You’d better, Master. You’re high as a kite.”

Kenobi just blinked. There was more colour to his cheeks, a gleam in his eyes that was not there before, and that had nothing to do with stims. And Kix knew that, somehow, he would be alright, now.

He left them to their song and quiet vigil, closing the door behind him.

They would be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hello, I hope you had a wonderful week-end! Well, I promised the next chapter would be funny, not sure it is, rather angsty-funny *but* there are, once more, real songs and lyrics intervowen with the story here! The words Obi is mouthing under the rock are poetry, taking from Shakespeare's 'Prospero Speech'. Poor Obi was trying to stay conscious remembering every song lyric and poetry stances he knew, and got caught in a loop, the poor darling. Under the showers, he sings bits of BJ Thomas' 'Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head' (it's such a positive, energetic song, I love it!). And the song Anakin makes him join in is 'Hypnotized By The Light' by Purple Disco Machine, that keeps getting played on the radio here and *well should it* :).
> 
> So, see, they got reconciled after the Rako Hardeen incident!!! It was so important for me... and I hope it worked that way for you!
> 
> Also, I am sorry for not posting every day. Work makes it quite impossible, and I will not catch a break until Thursday. So, should I not manage to post every day, rest assured that there will be, indeed, 24+1 stories but that, instead of ending on Christmas Day, we'll stick together till the last day of 2020 :). Take care, much love, Meysun.


	16. Mission Completed (Artoo)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my dears, I am back! A late merry Christmas to all of you, I hope you had a wonderful time with loved ones, and could rest a bit - find some magic in that chaotic year... I confess I let myself have a few days of complete rest, which is why this Advent Calendar is completely late - well at least it's original in the way that it is going on even after Christmas :). This chapter was planned a long time ago, but I always felt some kind of writer's block because I thought it would be tremendously difficult - turns out I had a loooot of fun. I hope you'll enjoy it to :). Meanwhile take care, and till very soon, Meysun.

**21 BBY.**

_Bip-doo-squee_.

R2-D2 swayed happily on his two short legs and emitted a few rapid light blinks towards SO-K, who beamed at him.

“Look at that, Master. He really enjoyed it!”

ANI/kin had that small, short laugh R2 could have recognized even without a photoreceptor and patted his round head.

“Artoo is a surprisingly neat Astromech. Of course he enjoys being cleaned – just like you, Master.”

Brown-and-cream OB-1 just huffed at that and R2 _bleep-yupped_ right back at him, because that humanoid could be as fussy as 3PO whenever something was not right with his armour/clothes/boots/hair.

“I don’t enjoy being _cleaned_ , per se”, OB-1 replied, grey eyes resting thoughtfully on R2. “Rather being _clean_.”

 _Wheeeez-same_ , in R2’s point of view he had no qualms to share, making SO-K laugh heartily.

“He’s not wrong, Master Obi-Wan. He thinks you are splitting hairs.”

 _Uh-uh_ , R2 emitted, somewhat perplexed, because OB-1’s hair looked just fine. Well, sweaty, messy and full of the sand SO-K had finally scrubbed out of his circuits – but certainly not split.

“It’s a phrase, Artoo”, ANI/kin supplied. “It means he is playing with words.”

 _Bleep-doo-whirrrr-bip-do_.

OB-1 sighed, and once more R2 wondered how it could be that ANI had no difficulties whatsoever to translate his sounds, while someone as gifted with languages as OB-1 never seemed to understand a single _bleep_.

“Mhm, Artoo. That’s what negotiators do indeed.”

R2 swayed proudly once more, but OB-1 rubbed his face, smearing red sand on his forehead, blinking tiredly.

“I do not feel like we negotiated much, here. It just felt like an endless chase consisting of lightsaber fights, explosions, and _improvising_.”

“Oh, come on, Master, where’s your sense of fun?”, ANI shot at him, poking him in the ribs and rubbing a large hand through his mop of hair, causing some sand to fall on the cream fabric shielding OB-1’s shoulders.

“Buried under copper sand”, OB-1 answered, making SO-K snort.

“I think Master Kenobi is worn out by your antics, Master”, she observed, fondly rubbing R2’s head. “I think he’d like for things to go by the plan at least _once_ , am I wrong, Master Kenobi?”

“Never, my dear”, OB-1 answered, shaking his head. “Fortunately, I let go of those dreams long ago. And now, if you would excuse me, I have a reputation of a fussy Master to uphold – so I might as well try the sonics.”

He soon glided out of the cockpit, leaving SO-K and ANI bickering, as usual.

“ _My_ antics, seriously, Snips? You _triggered_ the first explosion, or _am I wrong_?”

“And who decided that Master Obi-Wan was taking too long and chose to barge in, destroying half the ceiling, _Skyguy_?”

“Hey, he was in trouble, as kriffing _usual_!”

“Maybe, but sometimes you forget that Master Kenobi…”

A soft voice echoed from behind the small ship, annoyance and fondness clearly fighting for dominion.

“… can hear you perfectly, _despite_ the sonic.”

 _Bleep-whirr-boom_ , R2 quipped, and ANI gave him a soft tap on the leg.

“No need to sound so smug, Artoo. Now close that door for us, so that we can go on arguing in peace.”

R2 promptly obeyed, ever happy to oblige, but when he turned around, he was surprised to find a somewhat pensive expression on ANI’s face.

“You really think he was displeased with us, Snips?”

SO-K let herself fall into one of the cockpit’s seats, allowing her legs to bounce up in the air once, before she leaned back, hands gracefully cradling the armrests. She took her time answering, small face frowning slightly, and R2 rolled up to her, gently _bleeping_ encouragements.

“No”, SO-K answered. “He gets all tight and narrow in the Force, whenever he’s upset with us. And it never lasts. I think… I think he’s just _tired_. But it’s hard to tell, with Master Kenobi. His shields are just so kriffing _strong_.”

“Language, Snips.”, ANI quipped, almost mechanically, sliding into the other seat. “He feels a bit off, is all…”

R2 _wheez-sighed_. Sometimes humanoids were just so _slow_.

_Bleep. Whirr. Tap._

When he finally got ANI’s attention, he turned on his holoprojector, and the thin, graceful silhouette of a light-haired woman filled the space between them, slowly pirouetting like a dancer as the silvery projection spun.

“Wait… Isn’t that Duchess S-“

“Shh, Snips. Artoo, turn it off. And thanks for the input, buddy.”

R2 promptly sucked the image back inside his memory, while ANI tapped the back of his mechanic knuckle against his teeth.

“They were involved, no matter what he says. That much is clear. But Master Obi-Wan would never let that come between him and the Jedi, Snips. Still… it has just been two weeks since she headed back. I guess that’s why he feels so strange.”

“Poor Master Obi-Wan”, SO-K sighed. “She’s so cool and calm and _icy_. No wonder shouts and explosions and fights feel a bit much, right now. But what can we do, Master?”

“Well… I guess we just… let him be?”

ANI’s face was somewhat sheepish, and SO-K sighed.

“Oh come on, Master! He needs to feel we _care_! Is that really all you can think of? Come here, Artoo. Good boy. Sweetie.”

R2 _whir-purred_ , small head spinning in adoration, because SO-K was always so nice him, just like Pod-ME. Sometimes she even reminded him of her.

“Listen to me, Artoo. You are going to wheel yourself right into Master Obi-Wan’s room. And then – open that little compartment of yours, that’s a good boy. Here. You give him that ration bar. And you make sure he makes himself a cup of tea. Here’s a teabag. Master Luminara told me once he likes that brand, so I packed some.”

“Well, aren’t you a sneaky little… And what did you pack for _me_ , Snips?!”

“Oh, come on, Master! What about rations, and spare cables for your hand? Oh, and let’s not forget those woollen socks you are always so _enthusiastic_ about? Should I go on, Skyguy?”

R2 did not wait to hear the end of their twenty-second argument of the day, and promptly wheeled himself away, because SO-K had given him a mission, and R2 _loved_ missions.

The door towards OB-1’s room was slightly ajar, but when R2 peered inside using his periscope, OB-1 had already slipped into clean clothes and was busy folding the sandy ones into a small, neat pile.

_Blee-whizz-in?_

“You _do_ know that I have trouble understanding you, little one?”, OB-1 sighed, but his eyes were kind and R2 gently swayed towards his hip, rubbing his head against his thigh.

“I don’t like droids, you know. They make me uncomfortable”, OB-1 went on, yet his hand found R2’s head, rubbing him exactly where one of his connexions’ always sparked, making him wheeze gently with delight.

“You, however, are something else”, OB-1 added, and R2 opened his compartment, handing him the ration bar, watching his clear eyes soften even more.

_Doo-be-tea._

One of his mechanic arms slowly unfolded and R2 flipped the switch of the small kettle, placing the teabag carefully in the lonely cup stored beneath.

“I see. And I’d better follow your instructions, I presume?”

_Bleep._

R2 liked cream-and-brown OB-1, even though he was not especially droid-friendly. One could understand, after all. That circuit-coughing GRIEVOUS was not a nice one to be around, and neither were most of his troops.

So he gently whirred, and tapped OB-1’s hip, until his friend caved in, sitting on the narrow cot, unwrapping the ration bar and folding his hands around the cup, closing his eyes, allowing his shoulders to slump.

And then, R2 left, happily. Letting out two chirping sound that could be translated as “ _Mission Completed_ ”.


	17. Core Planets (Plo Koon)

**20 BBY.**

Jedi Master Plo Koon knew himself well enough in the Force to acknowledge he had _enjoyed_ blasting that horrid slave-facility to dust and pieces.

He had also been treading the Way long enough to release those feelings, focusing instead on recalling the unique sensation flying always gave him – joining the Force in a precise, sharp, daring way Skywalker was probably closest to understand.

It had all been such a terrible mess. The mission on Zygerria, and later on Kadavo had nearly cost everyone their lives – were it for little Ahsoka’s resources and Skywalker’s tenacity. 

The Togrutas from Kiros were all tended to, and Master Koon had assured himself that Ahsoka had not suffered from her captivity – he was not sure _yet_ she had fully understood what she had risked, but was confident Master Ti would be able to coax more feelings out of her.

As it was, though, little Ahsoka seemed surprisingly fine, and had joined him promptly into meditation once she had finished talking to him. Master Koon had had no such luck with Skywalker – then again, the boy felt so stormy in the Force it was no wonder he had preferred releasing his feelings into smashing training droids to pieces.

Captain Rex and Obi-Wan had suffered most and were yet to be released from the medical bay – he was quite certain though that they would likely spend the night there. The Captain had looked close to collapsing once they had reached the cruiser, and Obi-Wan was feeling so small and quiet in the Force it almost felt like his dear young friend was gone.

And this was a feeling Plo did not like at all.

It reminded him too much of a small, six-year-old boy who had been so frightened and hurt by a cruel Jedi Master he had stopped talking for several days – long after Pong Krell had been sent far away in the Outer Rim.

Plo Koon had been younger then and was teaching the little Initiates Astronomy and Planet History. He was already on the Council, but was still honing his piloting skills, and the little ones had always asked eagerly about his trips to far away planets.

When Master Krell had seemingly confused teaching hand-to-hand-combat with strangling a defenceless Initiate, Plo had needed all his calm and deep friendship with Qui-Gon to prevent him from slicing one or two of Krell’s arms. Instead, he had persuaded his friend to take up Krell’s teachings, and had watched him and little Obi-Wan get closer in the Force. 

The boy, though, had stopped talking for days. Plo still remembered him all tiny and huddled in the Force, colouring maps and writing down Planet-names without a single noise.

“Who can tell me what the Core planets are? Which ones did you colour orange, Initiates?”, he still remembered asking.

And little Quinlan, who had been busy colouring the Outer Rim planets that simply interested him way more, had pointed at Obi-Wan.

“Obi-Wan knows them all”, the boy had announced, a front tooth missing in his smile as he beamed at Master Plo.

But Obi-Wan had stayed mute and motionless, small hands folded in his lap, eyes slowly filling with tears as silence had stretched in the class, Force-presence almost muted and shields drawn so tight he barely felt _there_.

Master Plo had asked the others instead, promptly filling the silence with eager answers, sending soothing waves towards the distraught little boy. He had sat down next to him, once the class had ended, and had watched fat tears making orange-coloured planets blur into shapeless dots on the flimsi.

“The Galaxy is a wide, endless place”, he had observed, projecting gentleness and care towards the small Initiate. “Yet sometimes it does not feel big enough to disappear.”

The little boy had looked up, tiny, freckled features peering up at him, making him wonder how someone could possibly think of hurting him.

“You do not need to disappear to be safe, Obi-Wan”, he had told the child in front of him. “And you do not need to shine to belong into that little world of ours. Do you know what would happen, should a Core-planet disappear brutally?”

The child had shaken his head and Master Plo had extended an arm, wrapping it around the narrow shoulders of the boy who would become his closest friend’s Padawan, and a friend himself.

“It would disturb the balance and gravity of every celestial body around. And what is the Temple, but a very small Galaxy, young one?”

“He… he said I would be sent away…”

The small voice had been hoarse and broken from disuse, and Plo Koon had felt the shivers running through his tiny frame.

“He said the Temple should be cleared from… late arrivals like me.”

More dots had met the flimsi, quietly, but Obi-Wan had not moved, small hands still curled in his lap.

“But I don’t know where to go.”

He had gathered the little one into his arms, then. Wrapping him into the folds of his robe, feeling tiny fists wrap themselves around the dark fabric, and a small face bury itself in his shoulder as the boy cried, quietly.

“You, little Obi-Wan, are exactly where you are supposed to be”, Plo Koon had told him quietly. “It is Pong Krell who does not belong here. And I will take you to the Map in the Archives now and show you just how far away we sent him, so that he will never harm anyone again.”

“But he is going to be angry.”

The voice had been almost inaudible, yet the fear in it had been clear.

“If he is truly a Jedi, he will let go of his anger. And if he does not – it is him, and not you, who should clear the Temple. Now breathe with me, little Obi-Wan, and try to let go of that huge fear.”

Those days of simple comfort had long passed, though. And Krell had returned, like a childhood nightmare, to sow death and destruction on Umbara – yet Obi-Wan had _seemed_ to handle it as well as circumstances allowed.

Now, however… His friend had been too weak to talk much, starvation and injuries taking their toll on him. Obi-Wan had been able to fight back and maintain a semblance of a façade as long as Governor Roshti had been around – he had also been very anxious to assure himself of Ahsoka’s and Skywalker’s safety. But once in the medical bay, his friend had faded quickly.

And his Force-presence felt like nothing but a shadow.

Plo Koon entered the medical bay quietly, letting the doors glide close behind him, and knocked – entering the room where Rex and Obi-Wan were resting.

He found his young friend asleep, hands curled into fists close to his face like so long ago, shields still firmly up in the Force, preventing anyone from guessing his thoughts. 

Captain Rex, though, was awake, golden eyes meeting his in that stalwart, steady way of his.

“How do your wounds fare, Captain Rex?”, Plo asked, sitting down next to Obi-Wan’s bed, careful not to wake him.

“I’ve been better, General”, Rex answered, truthfully. “But it feels wonderful to be away from that place and to know that General Skywalker and Commander Tano are safe as well. Your rescue was… very _daring_.”

The ghost of a smile grazed the Captain’s thin cheeks, and Plo marvelled once more at his warm, steady signature. It made the absence of Obi-Wan’s in the Force only more striking.

“It got him hard, General.”, Rex spoke, softly. “He was injured before we came, and… they made sure to whip him every day. But what was worse – what was so much worse for him was to see others punished in his place. They _recoiled_ from him, General. Because they were scared. Because they honestly _believed_ , very quickly, that Jedi only make things worse.”

Rex sat up, leaning against the cushions, unashamed of showing his wounds – bearing them like the rest of his armour.

“He made _me_ give them his rations. He kept away till very late in the night, trying to soothe them through the Force, even when they made it clear they wanted _nothing_ to do with him. And in the end… in the end he just made himself as small as he could. He told me he was hiding in the Force – trying to make the slavers forget he was there, so that they would not remember to harm others in his place. So when that Keeper taunted him, mocking that very compassion he tried to break in him – I killed him.”

Plo nodded, silently, hand resting on the bed close to Obi-Wan’s, but not touching him. His friend was still hiding in the Force – had still to truly come back to them. To _feel_ that disappearing had stopped becoming the better option.

“You know”, Rex said softly. “I did not realise. Not really. I thought the General and I were similar, because we both _fight_. But I was wrong. I was trained to survive and kill, General. I was bred for warfare. And General Kenobi… he was trained to protect. And console. He will only survive if he can protect others. Taking that away from him… it was as cruel as harming a child.”

“He is no child anymore, Captain”, Plo observed. “He is strong in the Force, even though he is hiding, right now. But Obi-Wan is a true Jedi.”

“I meant no such thing, General”, Rex whispered, golden eyes growing somewhat wide. “I do not think General Kenobi childlike or _weak_ , it was not my point and I apologize if it came across that way. What I meant…”

Rex rubbed at his short, light hair, popping his neck, completely oblivious of the Bacta-smeared marks around his throat.

“He has something _pure_ , General. Something… something that makes one feel very fragile inside, whenever he gets hurt, because it shouldn’t be. He was comforting the prisoners through the Force, late at night – and I was right next to him, I could feel it. But I could also hear some of his thoughts. And do you know what he was thinking, at the very end, when he made himself very small and stopped talking?”

The Captain’s eyes were burning with fierce and protective care, and Plo shook his head.

“He was telling himself stories. Stories his childhood friend General Vos invented. He was lulling himself to sleep with them, creating that small bubble where nothing could hurt him. And when he realised it was helping me relax, he shared them with me.”

They both stayed silent for a while, watching their friend sleep.

“He misses his _vode_ , General.”, Rex finally said, voice soft. “He won’t tell you. He won’t tell anybody. But he needs them, right now – not just General Skywalker or Commander Tano. He needs you. General Windu. Master Yoda. And General Vos, Unduli and Fisto. He needs to see you are still one in that Force you all feel, or he will end up disappearing, thinking the world is a better place without him. And we can’t have that.”

“No, Captain”, Plo Koon answered, lowering his shields and wrapping comfort, love and care around Obi-Wan’s sleeping frame, and around that wonderful Clone Captain who had turned out to be more resilient than any Jedi.

“We cannot have that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [In Meysun's best Eminem voice] : "Guess who's back... Back again... Angst is back... tell a friend" xD xD!!! Just thought I'd try to make you smile a bit after that angsty roller-coaster, because Umbara then Zygerria/Kadavo... and knowing that the Deception-arc comes next, it's a bit much for an Advent Calendar!! Buuuut... it is real good fic material, I confess, and I think I'll definitely write that post-Deception fic, where after all Obi-Wan 'disappears' because there's so much to weave there. Sorry Lilly, Obi-Wan was indeed thinking of Lucia, Squid and Dwight and it broke my heart - but it was also his way to stay resilient and I promise you he gets to see Quinlan and get a hug soon afterwards. I hope I gave Master Plo's voice justice -- he is truly amazing in that flying rescue of his, I had forgotten!!! Much love, take care and... no angst tomorrow, I promise. See you soon, Meysun.


	18. Landmarks (Asajj Ventress)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A somewhat late but very Happy New Year to you, my dears! May 2021 keep you in good health and offer you many moments of joy, of true sharing, of friendship and love, enough to fuel your resilience and creativity, and to keep you strong, bending but never breaking like the precious reeds you all are :).
> 
> I apologize so, so much for the hiatus in my posting - life has been a bit tumultuous. Both in friendly life and in work, there were some storms to tame and to learn from, and though this story has hardly ever left my mind, I couldn't find the time and peace to sit down and write. Now, however I am back, although I won't post each day - I still have a few Sparks for you to post, so I hope that, even as it is a bit ridiculous to finish an Advent Calendar in January, you will still bear with me and my antics.
> 
> I hope you will enjoy this one, because I have definitely loved crafting it :). Take care and see you below, Meysun.

**20 BBY.**

Asajj Ventress usually held men in boundless contempt. They were brutish, eager for power, sure of their own value, and she _still_ enjoyed breaking them, because she was a Sister, a Witch and a woman.

There were a few, though, that Ventress could not sweep away so easily. Men that had broken her, thwarted her strength and confidence. Men she could not forget, men who had wormed their way into her very _essence_.

Her former Master Ky Narec – because he had died.

Dooku – because he had betrayed her, used her, and such deserved to die.

And Kenobi, who was quietly entering coordinates on the screen – who kept defying her, and who would have died but for her saving him.

Ventress still struggled to wrap her mind around it. To believe she had actually _let_ him wield one of her sabers, had felt his back against hers, his signature wrapping itself around hers as he had helped her Force-jump back to the cockpit.

Crystal, body and signature – he had all touched it, and Ventress was shuddering with something she _thought_ was hatred and revulsion but felt so fragile she was disgusted.

Kenobi turned towards her and looked up at her. She was still standing, feet firmly set apart – Kenobi however remained seated. The bruise around his right eye was darkening quickly, there was a thin crust of blood on his brow, and he had wrapped his left arm around his chest, fingers resting against his ribs.

“Is this the moment of sudden clarity where we both remember who we usually are for each other, my dear?”

That taunting, cultivated tone had always managed to kindle her ire – back then, when she had been Dooku’s pawn and assassin. When she had fought him, sought to break him, hating him for the man and Jedi he was. Yet she had always thought he was the only one truly _worth_ destroying.

Now, however, Ventress realised his voice was also _familiar_.

A landmark in her psyche, telling her how to be, behave and become – the very opposite of what he embodied. A woman for a man, a Sith for a Jedi, rage for righteousness. Fierce darkness for quiet light, revenge for forgiveness, hatred for compassion.

She had loathed every bit of him – her polar opposite in mind, body, essence and _choices_.

But seeing him there, in that ridiculously small cockpit, bruised, battered, fragile and so very _breakable_ , Asajj Ventress realised that, should Kenobi be destroyed, there would be no compass left. No one defining her, no one knowing her so very _wholly_ as she knew him – because opposites were a hairbreadth away from kin.

It was disturbing and made her want to bolt – but those grey eyes had always spurned her on, and so Ventress simply raised a cold eyebrow.

“Do not even consider _droning_ about how much you need me, Kenobi.”

He smiled, silent laughter turning into a muffled cough he silenced in his sleeve, eyes never leaving hers – there was no fear in that gaze, though. No threat either – just genuine curiosity. But then, Kenobi was a powerful shielder, and Ventress was very aware of the way he was currently wrapping the Force like a hood around his mind and body.

“I can hardly argue with that, can I? With you _barging in_ and rescuing me – why in the Force would you do such a thing, dear? I thought we had agreed on fighting each other to the death?”

“It can still be arranged, sweetheart”, Ventress drawled, taking slow, very deliberate steps towards him.

He did not budge, the Force still wrapped like a swirling column around his very being. Not even as she placed herself right between his legs, raking her left hand through his hair, bending above him – only to reach for a button on the cockpit, pushing several down, opening compartments until she found a medium-sized, cold metalling nut.

She could feel him tremble, arm still wrapped tightly around his chest, chin raised in one of those small, defying moves she used to despise. She could sense the sharp angles of his knees against her shins, the soft dampness of his dirty, sweaty hair under her fingers and the warm, swollen skin around his eye when she pressed the cool nut against it.

“We have to keep those pretty eyes open, don’t we? We wouldn’t want you to stop ogling me…”

He just huffed, hand raising to brush hers away, pressing the nut against his brow himself, left eye glowering with exasperation.

“You, my dear, are a nymphomaniac.”

She was still standing right between his legs and he was still shivering, but arousal had nothing to do with it. And so, Ventress simply sat down, thighs pressing against his knees.

“And you, sweetheart, have turned unbecomingly _skinny_.”

To Kenobi’s credit, he did not even flinch at feeling her against him. Not even when she unwrapped his arm, freeing his chest and placing her palms against his ribs, feeling the cracks through the Force – the frailness and pain she hated and despised so much.

“What can I say?”, Kenobi rasped, stifling another cough when she pressed down, slightly. “I’m a picky man, and one can only eat as many ration-bars.”

“You are lying, sweetheart.”

There was so much _sadness_. Behind those shields of iron. Such incredible, overwhelming _sorrow_ – shock and horror fading into a grief so gentle it was still pure. Ventress could sense it, because she was his very counterpart in the Force. The Nightsister of this Lightbrother.

“You have lost your landmarks, Kenobi. And now you are reeling.”

He was a fierce warrior, behind that façade of calm and gentleness – she had always known it. And she felt it in the way his hands grasped hers, prying them away from his body, nut falling to the ground with a metallic thud.

He was looking at her, bruised eye slowly turning purple, and the Force around him swirled, turned, swelled… before it surfed back like a fading wave, the feelings he was keeping behind his shields gently released without touching her. She watched his shoulders lose their rigid set, the grey in his eyes turn even clearer, and then Kenobi’s hands released her.

“What has happened to you, Ventress?”, he asked, softly. “Something _changed_. I can feel it. Around you and in the Force.”

“Deflecting now, are we, sweetheart? Someone here is sca-ared…”

“I am not scared.”

Those four words were as defiant as Kenobi could be, but he was not lying. She could see it, in those eyes that were still searching hers. Seeking to understand. Because, contrary as they were, they were one and the same in the Force – polar opposites of the same essence.

“I have been.”

His voice was still low, and he was still trembling – shock gripping his body, unwilling to let go.

“When I was still a Padawan. Maul… he killed my Master. Exactly as he said. He gutted him, and I could only watch. And I… I gutted him in retaliation. I cut him in half. I broke his middle and his balance – and I lost mine, for a while. And now… it is time to face what I have unhinged.”

He fell silent, and she studied him for a while, frowning slightly. She placed her palms on his shoulders, and he let her. She closed her eyes, reaching out for his signature – and there he was, so different in the Force yet so _familiar_. All softness where she was angles. All acceptance where she was rebellion. All self-reflective where she was unhinged.

She did not _understand_ him. And yet, she still knew every trait that defined him – because she was lacking almost all of them.

“I hold no loyalties anymore”, she told him. “I only hold grudges.”

Sadness and compassion coloured his eyes, softening his features – he was already breathing in, ready to argue, comfort and help her, but Ventress just placed a hand against his lips.

And he let her.

“Dooku betrayed me. Left me there to die. He promised to train and raise me, but he only used me. You share your clever tongue with him, sweetheart – but unlike him, you are no real liar. You are so pure you disgust me, Kenobi – but not as much as he does. And that is why I am going to kill him, no matter how long it takes. But until then, I go my own way.”

She lowered her hand, freeing his lips once more. And realised he had stopped trembling, her body-warmth bleeding into him. There was some colour on his cheeks, making him look less battered – somewhat more alive.

Their Force-signatures had been brushing against each other for a while – and Ventress realised it had started long before, with her hand slapping him back to consciousness. With him wielding her crystal, curbing its fierceness before handing it back to her. They had fought each other, danced around each other – not realising that they were the Dark and Light of the same essence.

Or perhaps he had.

Perhaps Kenobi, in that infuriating, calm, cool-headed and almost _feminine_ way of his had sensed long ago that he was as much a landmark to her as she was to him.

Something beeped softly behind them, and Ventress realised that they were almost arriving – they were entering the nearest planet’s atmosphere, almost ready to part ways. Until they would cross again.

“May the Force be with you”, Kenobi murmured – and she was not as soft, not as gentle, not as _good_ , shuddering at the mere thought of it.

So Ventress simply placed a hand against his chest, and pushed herself up from his lap, brushing dust from her thighs lazily.

“Remember, Kenobi. I like my boys a bit heavier.”

He rolled his eyes, shaking his head, turning back towards the cockpit, ready to fly them thought their landing. They parted without a word, mere minutes after that – he somewhat warmer, and her somewhat softer.

Not friends. But not enemies anymore.

Opposites of the very same current.

Kindred landmarks in the Force.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smiles a big, big, smile at you, because aaaaah I just loved musing about what it means to be man/woman, how irrelevant it is in the Force yet how defining it can still be for people and even characters... Asajj Ventress is a truly fascinating character that I have grown to love - and the more I thought about her, the more I realised that for me, she is one of Obi-Wan's opposites - but not in the way Maul or later Anakin is. I do not know if it is because she is a woman, or because Ventress is actually entering a redemption arc that is unfortunately left unfinished in the series (or so I think...), but I think this opposite is one that both Obi-Wan and Ventress learn to treasure. I also love to think that on the day they both join the Force, their essence is completing each other perfectly in the Cosmic Force, balancing each other out - the concepts of man/woman, Light/Dark, fierce/soft, angry/accepting melting into each other until there is both nothing and everything.
> 
> And no, I haven't smoked anything -- I just love these concepts and what the Force allows us to craft as writers that I couldn't stop :).  
> I'm mahizli on Tumblr if you want to share thoughts with me or have a chat by the way - I keep forgetting to tell you. 
> 
> Take care, dear ones, and see you very soon. Much love, Meysun.


	19. Circles (Yoda)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my dears, I hope you are all well and having a wonderful week-end. This is a shorter, more serene chapter that has been waiting quite a long time to be written -- I hope you will enjoy it, the one speaking here is definitely dear to me :). Take care, see you below, Meysun.

**52 BBY.**

A wonderful sound it was, the laughter of children, echoing like silver bells in the Force. Sparks of simple joy that warmed the heart, causing the tender flowers and strong leaves to quiver with elation, bringing a smile on Yoda’s lips.

A harbour, the Temple Gardens always were to him, but nothing brought him more joy than to see the little Initiates roam the grounds, small sprouts as they were themselves.

Barefoot, the little ones were allowed to be, able to sense the grass and roots under their feet, to feel for the warm rocks and the damp earth. The Gardens were wide enough to provide peace for those who wished to meditate, and to allow Initiates and young Padawans to play and simply be children.

Green and golden, the Force always seemed to him there, treading the path that would lead him to his favourite place – a stone overhanging a brooklet, shadowed by large, old trees.

Yoda loved the way the sunlight wove patterns on the flat stone, the sound of the water flowing below him, and the rustling of the trees – they carried him far away, deep within the Cosmic Force where everything became one.

He heard laughter echoing from the right and watched young Luminara perform a row of perfect gymnastic wheels, small hands barely curbing the grass beneath her palms. He could sense the signatures of several other Initiates, playing games of hide and seek, running after each other, delighted to be outside – and the stronger, calmer presence of Master Ti, always mindful of the small younglings buzzing around like bees.

Surprises, the Gardens could also harbour. Yoda’s ears twitched slightly, ember eyes warming, when he realised his favourite spot seemed already occupied by an auburn-haired and silent little bee, whose Force-signature had melted so completely with the brooklet it took Yoda several seconds to make out its pattern once more.

An astonishing connection, young Obi-Wan had, with the Cosmic Force – a powerful shielder, the boy already was, one that had almost escaped the Temple’s notice. And yet the little one shone brightly in the Force once his presence was revealed, glowing warm and loving like a star.

The little one was humming quietly, bare feet resting against the earth, small hand drawing patterns on the stone, following the shapes the light threw between the leaves.

“ _Crocuses in the meadows / Are blooming, are blooming / Crocuses in the meadows / Summer is ending_ …”

Yoda watched his small toes curl as the boy lost himself into his song once more, fingertips sketching invisible circles on the stone.

“ _The red autumn leaf / whirled away by the wind / is swirling and spinning / dancing with the ground_ …”

The rhyme was somewhat hypnotic, undoubtedly a song for children, but it sounded foreign, and Yoda had not heard it in the crèche or among the younglings. Little Obi-Wan was still drawing, his song turning into a wordless hum – but then the boy looked up, and Yoda watched his grey eyes lighten as he spotted him, dimples appearing as he smiled at him.

“Hello, Grandmaster Yoda”, Obi-Wan chirped, gathering his feet under him so as to kneel properly and bowing his head.

“Hello, young Obi-Wan”, Yoda replied, walking up to him and sitting himself next to him, feeling the little one’s signature brush against his, like a small, loving bird.

“Happy I am, to see you, little one”, Yoda said, and he watched Obi-Wan’s tiny hands brush the stone once more, his smile brightening his face even more.

“I am very happy too, Grandmaster. Do you like this place as well? Do you want me to give you some space?”

Yoda chuckled, shaking his head.

“No, Obi-Wan. Space enough I have, here and in the Force. Bask in the warmth of a fellow Jedi, a pleasure it always is, for me. Enjoy this place, you do, hmm?”

“Yes, Grandmaster. It is calm. Quiet.”

Yoda hummed, turning so as to watch the brooklet below them. And Obi-Wan readjusted his position as well, hands calmly placed on his knees, signature still open and eager, but focused.

“Very strong, the Force is, on this particular spot. Feel it, you do?”

The boy did not answer straight away. Instead, Obi-Wan closed his eyes, taking a few deep breaths, allowing himself to reach out through the Force, brushing leaves, stone and water alike.

“It is flowing. Singing. Wind. Light. Water. Leaves. They keep changing and flowing. They tell us… they tell us we are the same. Flowing.”

Yoda reached out with his signature, brushing against Obi-Wan’s, who was brightening even more, lighted by the Force that was indeed flowing unencumbered through him – because the little one was still pure and young in the Way.

“It loves us. Very, very much. It wants us to know it is there. Around us. And within us. We must not… fear to abandon ourselves to it. But this… this I do not understand, Grandmaster.”

Obi-Wan was frowning slightly, eyes still closed, and Yoda smiled at him, amber eyes softening in love for this innocent child – this uncurbed little reed, this peaceful brooklet he had been so lucky to find in the Force.

“Abandonment, a complicated notion is. But not always, little brooklet. Many ways they are, to get lost in the Force. When we do so with trust, and love – when we meet what is beautiful and living and loving – this is abandonment, Obi-Wan.”

The boy opened his eyes and looked at Yoda, still puzzled – he was so young, a tiny child of five. But there was a flame, within him, that warmed the Grandmaster’s heart.

“Singing like a robin you were, drawing patterns on the stone, basking in the light and pleasure of the Gardens. Nothing but abandonment, this is.”

Obi-Wan’s lips parted in silent astonishment, and Yoda patted his knee, playfully. The boy relaxed even more at his side, and for a while, both stayed silent.

“Without your friends, you are, little one?”

Obi-Wan shook his head, facing Yoda once more.

“No, they are playing on the grass.”

“Hmmm… With them, you did not want to stay?”

“No, Grandmaster, I like them very much!”

The little boy’s eyes had grown wide and Yoda patted his knee once more, sending reassurance through the Force, as well as a soft nudge.

“It… It was loud”, Obi-Wan whispered, in the end. “Sometimes, it feels so loud, in the Force.”

“Silence, we all need, every once in a while. Find our own song in the Force. Quiet you sought, little brooklet. Understandable, this is – very insightful of you. The Gardens, many Jedi seek for this purpose.”

“You do not feel loud, Grandmaster”, Obi-Wan said, softly. “It is all quiet and peaceful, when you are around. It feels… it feels just like this place.”

Yoda smiled at him and allowed his hand to meet the boy’s shoulder.

“Loud, I have been, long ago, young Obi-Wan. Peace and quiet, I have learned to treasure, and also to bestow. Happy I am, to share this with you.”

Obi-Wan smiled back, his face shining with quiet, childish joy. They both closed their eyes, the boy allowing Yoda to guide him into meditation, melting with the brooklet’s song once more, their signatures swirling and spinning, dancing with the Force in peaceful abandonment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abandonment is such a beautiful thing indeed... it is letting go while still being aware of the beauty around us, it is trusting in what is good despite the insecurities and fears around us and clinging to these beliefs in order to move on. I think it is something Obi-Wan achieved to perfection, something I wish for all of us to be able to reach every once in a while. Usually I'm not referring to real world events, but I'm so, so happy about what happened last Wednesday in a certain country that I could not help myself, I had to write Master Yoda marvelling in what is beautiful. Writing some trust and wonder and kindness and beauty -- because it is high time that they become once more key values in our world :). And that we can be reminded that **they exist**. And won't stop existing.
> 
> To come back to little Obi I love so much, the song he sings is a translation of a French nursery-rhyme called "Colchiques Dans Les Prés" (Crocuses In the Meadows). The tone is quite melancholy but it is beautiful, and it was a song I loved when I was about Obi's age. Here, the song is something Obi remembers from his elder brother Owen -- in my headcanon it is Yoda who found him on Stewjon and brought him to the Jedi Temple (you can read a bit more about it in my story 'Blossoms In The Wind').
> 
> Five more little sparks to go for this Calendar -- thanks to all of you for reading. Take care, much love, Meysun (mahizli on Tumblr).


	20. In The Right Place (Riyo Chuchi)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my dears, I hope you had a lovely week and an even better week-end! Here things are not really calming down, however I am confident into finishing this project soon, so please don't think I abandoned it. This one was written very quickly, the words just flowed and I hope you will like it :). See you below, Meysun.

**21 BBY.**

Cold. Senator Riyo Chuchi was cold, despite the warm furs covering her shoulders.

Her golden earrings felt icy, and her body trembled helplessly in the shuttle as she clung to the handle, breathing in the scent of battle-worn men, trying to forget the stench of blood.

Her eyes stung, and Riyo tried to blink back the tears threatening to spill, overwhelmed by what had just happened on Orto Plutonia.

_I am the only woman. I am the only woman here._

The thought was circling in her brain, like a crazed animal trying to break out, and Riyo tried to breathe out – because she was a Senator, someone who had to represent her people and had managed to do so, finally achieving peace between Pantora and the tribe of Chieftain Thi-Sen.

_I am just a woman. I am just a woman._

“Are you all right, my lady?”

The metallic voice of Threepio rose beneath her and Riyo nodded, forcing her eyes to stare ahead, into space, into nothingness.

_He made me feel like a girl. I felt like just a girl, brushed away and trampled upon. And so many died._

Chairman Cho had shocked and frightened her, had made her feel small and brittle inside, just like the worst moments of her life, in the Legislative Youth Program, where some had mocked her shyness and reserve – before Padmé and Mo had stepped in and made her feel like she finally _belonged_ in politics.

Riyo was used to the political world – to the polite sneers and the paternalistic sentences, all these small, unseen obstacles that were so hard to remove because so many of them were implicit.

But what she had discovered, that day – the display of brute power, of pure _colonialism_ , of prejudice and violence… and all those soldiers around her… the sweat and blood and fight and death…

_So many died._

She had felt like a savage herself. Witnessing all this. Unable to say anything, until it was her turn to speak. Jedi General Obi-Wan Kenobi had urged her on, and something in the way he had _looked_ at her had allowed something warm and brave to unfold deep within her – something Riyo Chuchi would never have believed to harbour.

She had spoken words she did not know she had in herself – and in those kind, intelligent eyes of Chieftain Thi-Sen… In those eyes of the one Chairman Cho had _dared_ to call a beast, she had read consideration. Respect. Trust.

_He saw me as a whole. He did not belittle me. He raised me up._

The sky blurred before her eyes, and Riyo raised a hand, wiping her cheek, feeling herself tremble. There was no one directly beneath her, the troopers and the Jedi careful to give her some space, but the space was crowded, and she could still feel them, hear them, _smell_ them – the adrenaline and sweat and post-battle euphoria.

Yet so many had fallen, and her cheeks burned with icy tears.

“Senator Chuchi, allow me…”

The voice raising behind her was soft. There was no bloodlust, nothing overwhelmingly _virile_ in Master Obi-Wan Kenobi – at least not with her. Riyo had seen him in combat, though, also in the Senate, when he was trying to argue for the Jedi, and held nothing but admiration for him – how could she not, when he was the one _Duchess Satine_ held in such esteem...?

She also knew that he was, perhaps, the only man in this small aircraft to be able to soothe her and understand a bit of what she felt. She had seen Master Kenobi’s eyes, as Chairman Cho had decided to wage war. Had witnessed his gestures, as he tried to communicate with the Talz – Knight Skywalker had joked with the men, had told them Master Kenobi had been fiercely _hugged_.

But right now, Riyo was unable to do anything but acknowledge him with a nod, knuckle still wiping her tears delicately, staring into nothingness.

_May I join you, Senator…?_

It was not a voice, not really. It was something tentative, like a hand stretched out, a soft brush against her very essence.

It felt delicate. Considerate. Like a snow-flower peaking between icy slopes.

And so Riyo nodded, and allowed the Jedi Master to step into the small space she had claimed for herself.

“I brought you some tea”, Master Kenobi told her, handing her a steaming cup – and she realised he had removed his gloves, hands somewhat red in the relative cold of the ship.

Yet how comforting it felt to see fingers, not fists. To meet kind, concerned grey eyes, not scowls and sneers of contempt.

Riyo Chuchi took the cup, placing both hands around it, warming her palms without drinking, for a while. And she realised, then, that the voices of the troopers seemed muffled, as well as their presences.

It was just the window. The inky sky. And her and a Jedi Master.

“I shielded us with the Force. I should have done so earlier, Senator. I apologize.”

Riyo breathed out, somewhat shakily. It felt better. Safer, somehow. So much calmer – allowing her to gather the strength to lift the cup to her lips, taking a sip that soon warmed her chest.

“It is I who should apologize”, she whispered, in the end. “I… I did not mean to turn away from you. I… I should…”

“Senator Chuchi…”

His voice was so very gentle. He was not touching her, was not invading her private space – yet she felt his warmth, somehow. His calm and kindness.

“Please know that every man here deeply respects you for what you have achieved today. And believe me when I tell you that I am, truly, aware of the difficulties you had to face, and still have. Men and women – and _species_ \- should be treated equally. I wish the world could be more like the Temple in that respect. Alas, there is still so much to achieve…”

“I… I am not sure… I am not sure to be in the right place, Master Kenobi.”

There. It was out. It made more tears spill, tears she valiantly tried to hide taking another sip of tea. But when she finally mustered the courage to gaze up at him, there was nothing but warmth and compassion in his grey eyes.

“I know the feeling, Senator Chuchi.”

She had not expected these words. Not from someone so masterful, so accomplished and so strong as him.

“My Master, however, used to tell me that doubt it is a double-edged sword. It can cripple us. Make us feel little. Unable us to move. But… it can also protect us from forgetting to be reflective. Teach us to reconsider. To always be humble, and to act because we seek to do what is _good_ , not what can bring us power.”

Riyo blinked, allowing his words to sink in, finally finding a semblance of calm. And Master Kenobi went on:

“As a Senator, you are entrusted with power and responsibility. People look up to you. They trust you. They allow you to represent them. And it is only if you keep wondering, asking yourself the question ‘am I still in the right place?’, that you will remain so. In the right place. And tending towards what is _good_ , to your best abilities.”

He was smiling at her, head gently tilted to the side. And Riyo felt something warm within her – something reminding her of the fire in herself, when she had faced the Talz, determined to stop this war. But it was not as burning, not as ephemeral. It was rather like an ember, something that would not vanish, but grow as she would enfold, learning to be more confident.

Because she was not doing it for herself. She was doing it for others – to serve and protect them. And… they had seen it. Those who truly mattered. Chieftain Thi-Sen. Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi. Knight Skywalker. Captain Rex. And the troopers that were standing around her, still shielded by the Force, but no longer making her feel threatened.

Senator Chuchi took a deep breath, and then she lowered her cup, a shy smile on her lips.

“I thank you, Master Kenobi. I feel much better now. And I would like to thank your men, as well as Knight Skywalker.”

“You are most welcome, Senator.”

He bowed, slightly, and then, very softly, the invisible curtain he had drawn around themselves and the others vanished. They were both back in the loud, crowded ship, surrounded by men who were used to battles and fights, but who were all yearning to do their _best_.

She was no longer afraid. And so, Senator Chuchi lifted her chin, gathered her fur around her shoulders and turned around.

For a while, all was silent.

And then, one of the troopers cheered, the acclamations soon echoing in the whole ship, making her blush, then smile, then laugh softly and bow her head in silent thanks.

“Hurray for the Senator! Hurray for that speech! Hurray for peace!”

Riyo no longer felt cold. She felt daring, and brave, and fiery, and taller than ever – but she also knew it was because of _them_. And so, she stood even straighter, lifted a small fist, like she had done on Orto Plutonia, and placed her other hand above it in a salute that was also a vow.

“We will make it last.”

Her cheeks glowed, and the ember within her was alight – because, just here and now, Senator Riyo Chuchi felt indeed _in the right place_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Riyo Chuchi, and I dearly love S01E15 'Trespass' - everyone in there save of course Chairman Cho is just so wonderful. This chapter allowed me to express some thoughts very dear to me -- working in the medical field that *used* to be a men's world but is no more, yet is still ruled by so many implicit and unvoiced "rules" and where sexism unfortunately has not vanished in the least made me want to voice Senator Chuchi as someone struggling with the same issues in the political world. Plus, let's face it, the political space is still a difficult space to be for a woman in our world - so hmm... I was thinking that, in the Galaxy we love, it might be a bit the same, especially with someone like Palpatine taking power (ugh...). I'm so, so curious about your thoughts but mostly, I hope you are safe and well! 
> 
> Feel free to message me or to find me on Tumblr [here](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/mahizli) . 
> 
> Take care, much love, Meysun.


	21. Shockwaves (Kit Fisto)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my dears, happy Friday :). Just wanted to thank you for keeping true to this story, and tell you that I'll try to answer all your lovely reviews and comments as soon as possible. Meanwhile enjoy I hope, and see you below, Meysun.

Kit knew he ran colder than most Jedi. It had always been that way – because there was no other way than to swim with the current, accepting what its throes could bring.

People kept forgetting – perhaps because they had no tendrils and tried to explain the world without its basic instincts. Yet Kit had always experienced them, _sensed_ them – the pheromones that were part of his species’ language.

And so, Kit knew. That people _clicked_ together. That there was a chemistry caused not only by the Force binding them, or pulling them apart. That it was useless to try and curb them, or feel shame about it.

His human friends struggled with it. They kept trying to _understand_. To get themselves under control – not Quinlan, though, he had quite a knack with instinct and pheromones…

Kit sighed, placing his bottle of Jawa juice on the Temple’s roof, sitting down cross-legged on the hot tiles, watching the sun turn skyscrapers to blazing swords.

There was no water here.

Nothing remotely close to who Nahdar had been – just a fallen lightsaber that had barely begun to serve. At least he had got it back.

Kit’s hand moved towards his tendrils, and he began the slow process of removing the rings adorning them, one after the other.

_A ring for the bubble of joy – when you became my Padawan._

_Another for the current flowing through your first crystal._

_A ring for the perfect stream in your movements - when you completed your senior katas._

The sun shone on Kit’s green skin, on the brown wool enveloping his body – no water, no ocean, no gentle coolness. And the number of rings before him grew, stretching like a small chain of memories and achievement.

“Your heart was in the right place”, Kit whispered. “Are we, though? Are we, Padawan – Masters leaving you to face your Trials alone to wedge war?”

_I got your sword back, Nahdar._

Kit ran colder than most. He saw no point in displaying heavy feelings, because pheromones already told so much. But it did not mean he was numb or immune to them. It was painted in the air around him, in the invisible halo around his unadorned tendrils.

“Power is the illusion of control”, Kit whispered.

He stayed like this for what felt like hours but could have been seconds, watching those rings telling of shared memories, of teaching and learning, thinking of Nahdar’s too-young face. Of the lightness of his body as he had passed into the Force.

_Go and rest in peace, my Padawan._

The sun grew redder and Kit simply watched it. The atmosphere around him was changing subtly, though, and he realised who was approaching even before he heard his first steps.

He knew Obi’s signature, both in the Force and in the molecules around them. Unlike Quin’s who was quite heady, or Nara’s who was almost etherical, Obi-Wan’s had something _magnetic_ about it. It drew people towards him, because – in a somewhat touching, totally oblivious way – Obi-Wan’s signature was so sincere, so very _human_ that it often acted as a compass.

Even as kids, they had all turned towards him for guidance. And yet, he had also allowed them close – him, Quin and Nara. Allowing himself to be held, vulnerable, and trusting, in precious moments that were growing rarer and rarer as the wars were raging.

“What are you doing here, Obi?”, Kit asked, lips turning up for a smile he did not feel.

His friend smiled back, gesturing towards his head.

“A mixture of repeated concussions and overreacting people”, Obi-Wan replied, sitting down next to Kit, who felt his smile widen, genuine this time.

“Poor Obi”, he teased, gently. “Are you even _allowed_ to be up here?”

“I’m a Jedi Knight, Kit”, Obi-Wan muttered, but there was a distinct wooziness melting into his signature, spelling _pale – stubborn - here with you - bit nauseous - are you all right_ in a somewhat jumbled message that was so very _him_.

“Obi, you are a Jedi _Master_ ”, Kit told him gently, dark eyes meeting his friend’s worn face, determined to keep his sadness from him. “You keep forgetting.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes widened slightly, and then his face fell, in an uncharacteristic display of emotion.

“I am sorry, Kit. I… I don’t know what to say…”

There were tears in his friend’s eyes – and it was not the concussion, this was just Obi-Wan being truly _him_ , sincere and so human, not realising that his body and soul already told it all.

“He was… He should not have been sent out there. He was too young. They are all too young. They do not understand – this violence, all these losses. It makes them so angry. They just want it to end…”

“He was too young”, Kit agreed. “It made him over-confident. Reckless. And this is something so difficult to overcome…”

Obi-Wan breathed out, and nodded, aborting the move with a wince.

“Are they sending you back?”, his friend asked, leaning his head against the chimney behind them.

“Not yet. They think I need a few days to recover. Just like you.”

Kit’s voice was teasing, but his eyes had returned to the small chain of rings before them. And Obi-Wan moved closer, scooting over like when they were younger, sleeve brushing his.

“It’s not your fault, Kit”, he whispered, and Kit closed his eyes, feeling himself shudder, despite the sun, because it _hurt_.

“Yeah”, he croaked. “Just like Anakin’s mechanic hand isn’t yours, remember? How long until you believed it, Obi? _Do_ you even believe it?”

“Sometimes…”

His friend’s voice was hoarse. He sounded just as tired as Kit was, and his head was tilting slowly towards Kit’s shoulder, eyes trained on the ground.

“I… I still wish I could have been faster. Stronger. But… Anakin does not resent me for it. And… he is still there.”

Obi’s brow was leaning against his shoulder now, and Kit turned towards him, realising just how pale and exhausted he was. He looked like Kit _felt_ , deep inside, and somehow, it made him feel less lonely. Less cold.

“Yes, Obi. And for that I am nothing but grateful, truly.”

He drew an arm around Obi-Wan’s shoulders, allowing his friend to lean more thoroughly against him.

“ _Were_ you even released from the Halls?”, he asked, gently.

“ _Uh-uh_.”

“I’ll take this as a yes…”, Kit said, extending a hand towards the bottle, watching the sun set slowly against the rooftops.

“I can’t… I can’t drink with you, though…”, Obi-Wan whispered. “My head’s spinning.”

Kit laughed, softly, uncorking the bottle with a bold move of the thumb.

“Don’t worry about it, Obi. Since you’re here, I’m not technically drinking alone, am I?”

“ _Uh-uh_.”

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, and Kit raised the bottle in a silent salute.

_Go in peace, Nahdar._

He lifted the bottle towards his neck, taking a healthy swig of Jawa Juice, arm wrapped around the warm, loose body of his childhood-friend who was struggling to stay awake, determined to _be with him_.

“I got this from Quin”, he told Obi quietly. “That drama-queen commed me. Told me where to search for it, in the smelly mess of his quarters.”

Obi-Wan smiled, hand loosely fisted in Kit’s tunic.

“Nara called as well”, Kit went on. “She told me the same, Obi.”

“’Bout the Jawa Juice?”, Obi asked, face scrunching up with confusion.

“Nope. About not feeling too guilty. You always were like twins, Obi…”

“She’s wiser”, Obi-Wan promptly replied, resting his face against Kit’s shoulder again. “She knows about… _stuff_.”

“Undoubtedly”, Kit quipped, taking another swig. “Nara knows about stuff.”

He would keep his tendrils unadorned, for a year. Such was the Nautolan way of mourning. What he owed Nahdar, along with letting him go.

And what he also owned his Padawan was to try and protect their young ones better, along with those who had seen what the terrible confrontation of youth and war could bring.

The Initiates, the Padawans and the Young Knights.

He could not wait to discuss it with his fellow Councillors – but tonight was a night of remembrance. Of vigil. And of quiet friendship.

And so, Kit raised his bottle and drank, quietly, weaving an unbroken chain of memories around them, releasing them gently into the Force. Watching the stars rise in the ink-like sky finally reminding him of the ocean, and its endless depths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kit... is certainly not an easy character to write :). I confess I even toyed with the idea of not writing him at all, because he is so calm and teasing and impenetrable I was finding it hard to find a "cracking point" to get into his head. He's somewhat rarely written and I hope I did not butcher him - he is a very, very important element in Obi-Wan's childhood group of friends calling themselves 'Still Green'. In my headcanon, the one Kit is closest to is actually Quinlan Vos, they are always bickering and competing - but he is very, very attached to Luminara and Obi-Wan. And he is, of course, one of Obi's biggest advocates for making him join the Jedi Council 3. Take care, much love, Meysun. 
> 
> Feel free to chat or message me on Tumblr [here](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/mahizli) ♥.


	22. Bonds (Dooku)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello dear ones! I hope you had a wonderful week-end, and that you are all well. This snippet is set on Florrum, during the episode "The Gungan General", whose plot I twisted a tiny bit for the simple pleasure of having two characters speaking to each other while the other is out :). I'm also the person who finally finished watching the Clone Wars a few days prior, who cried her eyes out because of the ending and the wonderful music, and keeps listening to it. So if there is a bit of foreshadowing here, forgive me :). Enjoy I hope, see you below, Meysun.

Dooku held nothing but contempt for the Skywalker boy – no finesse, no subtlety, and no mastering of emotions, without much room for improvement. The Force knew he had tried to curb similar faults in Qui-Gon, very long ago, but his former Padawan had found his balance into meditation, oddly enough, and Dooku had only needed a few seconds to assess that Skywalker was completely unable to achieve it, and _never would be_.

Dooku was no fool. He could sense how powerful the boy was, what an asset he would play once he would have fallen completely – he was also very much aware of the _interest_ his Master had in him. An interest that Dooku needed to be watchful of – because he knew how easily a Sith Apprentice could be replaced.

Dooku was no fool – and that was why he was keeping Ventress just close enough to control her, and just far enough for her not to attract Sidious’ attention unnecessarily. Ventress was fierce, skilled and loyal to a fault – and since he could not have Kenobi _yet_ , she was a tolerable substitute.

It did not mean Kenobi was entirely lost to him, though – and Dooku watched him wake with carefully hidden interest, sitting up and rubbing his brow silently, helping Skywalker to recover.

“How you could choose to walk out there and get yourselves caught _despite_ my warning is truly beyond me”, Dooku quipped, taking delight in watching Kenobi’s eyes widen slightly.

His former Grandpadawan’s eyes wandered to the electric bound wrought around his waist, attaching him both to Dooku and Skywalker. And the Count was surprised to feel resolve and relief seep through his incredibly strong shields. Kenobi was quick to place himself in front of Skywalker, holding him back and shielding him with his body, as soon as Dooku began to provoke the boy – it was frankly _too easy_. One just had to mention his arm, and watch Skywalker go _feral_.

“You will pay”, Skywalker hissed. “For all the Jedi you murdered on Geonosis.”

“That, my dear fool of a Jedi, is entirely your Master’s doing. Remind me again whose rescue it was that needed two-hundred and twelve Jedi?”

“Don’t you dare…”

“Anakin.”

Kenobi’s voice was calm. Measured, and so very soft. His body language still spelt protectiveness, one hand lightly placed on Skywalker’s left forearm. His face looked pale, in the dim light of the cell – but there was nothing but steadiness in the Force around him, and the command on his shields was frankly impressive.

“The Republic is going to send envoys with the spice. We need to get out of here _before_. And since we appear to be _bound_ together, for the time being, I suggest we refrain from murdering each other.”

“You want us to team up with him?!!”

The indignation in Skywalker’s voice was grating – and Kenobi sighed.

“Currently, having you running in different directions is no option for me.”

He gestured towards his waist, a small smile playing around his lips, and Skywalker huffed.

“Good point, Master.”

They spent the next hours trying to escape from Hondo Ohnaka’s cells, only to found themselves back there. Dooku just shrugged, mentally, not overly worried and secretly impressed when Kenobi pulled that mind-trick on the stupid Weequay sentinel.

“ _You don’t want to stand guard. You want to deactivate the cell bars and… go out drinking_.”

They watched the guard turn to a mindless puppet and set them free, and Kenobi muttered:

“Almost _too_ easy.”

They had been prisoners together long enough for Dooku to recognise the small frown between Kenobi’s eyebrows as a sign of worry. He was not projecting anything into the Force, his signature surprisingly mild and gentle, but Dooku had already learned that his former Grandpadawan’s mind never stopped running.

They left the cell for the second time, running towards the exit, and suddenly Kenobi was pushing him behind a crate, palm splayed on his shoulder, body shielding him in an unconscious, protective move mirroring his earlier one.

“Hurry along, Dooku.”

His sharp, focused grey eyes darted around, and Dooku realised just how strong and dangerous his Grandpadawan could be, even without a lightsaber. Obi-Wan’s sleeve was brushing his, and he had adopted a defensive Soresu stance, but his hand was trailing behind, feeling for Skywalker in the Force, attuned to his reactions – and this was _Qui-Gon’s_ training.

Qui-Gon had perfected the dual Master-and-Padawan technique along with Feemor, and brought it to completion with Obi-Wan, who had mastered the skill himself along with his own Padawan.

Dooku could have invaded their bond through the Force – but such was a crude, dirty thing reserved for the ones like _Maul_ , whom Dooku abhorred and despised. Instead, he focused on the quiet signs: Obi-Wan’s small tilt of the head, the way his shoulders relaxed once Skywalker shifted his own position, and the quiet smile in his eyes when they started to run in sync.

Their bond was not closed, clearly, and this was so very _interesting_ – but it also tugged at _something_ Dooku had though to be long purged from his very system. 

Something reminding him of a vibrant green blade, of Qui-Gon’s quiet, casual shrug whenever Dooku ordered him around – but his Padawan had been dutiful and strong, truly skilled in the Force and so very _warm_. Until Feemor had died. Until Dooku lost Qui-Gon’s friendship and goodwill for good – because his Padawan had always been too headstrong, and too tender-hearted.

“Jump!”

They were still bound by the waist – Obi-Wan linking them together, and Dooku heard his gasp when Anakin grabbed the fence, leaving them both hanging below him.

“You’re too heavy. I can’t do it.”

They were slipping, and suddenly the link between him and Obi-Wan snapped – and then Dooku felt warm, strong hands grab his.

“Are you crazy, Master?! Just drop him!”

But Obi-Wan’s hands just tightened around his, eyes narrowing in steely resolve even as the bound _tugged_ at his waist, drawing another pained exhale from him.

_Never._

The small word echoed in the Force with quiet determination, and Dooku almost winced in pain, because the dedication within sprang from something so old, so long forgotten it _burned_ , around his chest and in his very mind.

Ohnaka’s men somehow managed to knock Skywalker out and drag them both up in one fluid motion, and they soon found themselves back in their cells, finally separated but still unable to flee.

Dooku’s wrists hurt and he was somewhat short of breath, and so was Obi-Wan, who was bent above Skywalker’s unconscious body and had yet to straighten fully, arm wrapped around his waist.

“You should have dropped me”, Dooku stated, but Obi-Wan just huffed, with a small, annoyed shake of the head.

He fumbled through his utility belt, and managed to unfold a small Bacta patch, placing it against the welt on Skywalker’s brow, then he splayed his fingers, pressing them gently against his head.

Skywalker let out a soft moan, then his limbs seemed to relax and Dooku watched Obi-Wan’s face soften, his features still focused but appeased as he guided the boy into a healing trance.

“Rash, and unbalanced.”

 _This_ got Obi-Wan’s attention, and Dooku soon faced those calm, grey eyes, watching his Grandpadawan straighten, Anakin’s head still cradled in his lap.

“He might be skilled with machines. Wires. Even _lightsabers_ ”, Dooku dropped. “But he has not mastered _anything_ in the Force, and he will disappoint you, if he hasn’t already.”

“Anakin will _never_ disappoint me.”

“Don’t be so sure…”

Obi-Wan’s eyes narrowed, but then his Grandpadawan shook his head.

“I know what you are trying to do. And it will not work. You want to sow distrust and hatred between us. You want to belittle Anakin in my mind, and in my heart. But you cannot. Because those faults you point out are known to me, and known to _him_. Because I did not seek to raise a perfect machine, or a droid, when I took Anakin as a Padawan.”

“Did you? Take him as a Padawan? Or was it something more _complicated_? A promise to the one who had raised, and forsaken you?”

“Qui-Gon did not forsake me.”

Obi-Wan’s voice was very quiet. He was not a small man, but he was definitely smaller than them both. Thin. A small reed, Yoda had always called him. And Dooku knew just how very fragile he was, how _insignificant_ the Dark side of the Force made him – their duel was only months old, and he had brought him down within seconds.

Yet, just now, there was a conviction and a power radiating through him that seemed to dwarf them all. Obi-Wan raised bright grey eyes towards him, and Dooku realised, then, that the boy had worked hard towards _balance_ – and that his efforts had not been vain.

“Qui-Gon believed in him. And, when it came to choose between Anakin and myself, he chose him because he saw, and realised, that Anakin needed him more than I did.”

“You do not resent him? For calling you only stubborn, and capable, in front of the whole Jedi Council, when you gave him twelve years of your life?”

It still irked _something_ in Dooku. It had made him want to shake Qui-Gon until his teeth rattled – but Qui-Gon had died before Dooku had even known the full extent of the mess he had made with Obi-Wan, and then… Then Dooku had realised that the Jedi Order was _nothing_ like it should anymore – nothing like it _could_. 

“And what kind of a Padawan would that make me?”

Obi-Wan’s voice was just a whisper, and his face had turned very pale, but the resolve had not left his eyes. On the contrary, something warm and light had begun to seep through his shields, permeating the Force around him, and it was _searing open_ that small, long forgotten spot deep into Dooku’s chest.

“What of the years Qui-Gon devoted to _me_? What of Qui-Gon choosing _me_? Of helping me understand the Force, and myself, and the world around us, _every single day_ of my apprenticeship? What of the love and care he provided, for my mind, body and soul, giving me all he had and even more? What of the devotion he inspired in me – strong enough to help me come back to him when I almost fell? How could I resent him for caring for a boy who deserves the world, and who was unwanted by most, yet who holds such promises?”

His Grandpadawan was facing him, features pinched yet glowing so brightly in the Force – and there was no contempt in Obi-Wan’s words, just genuine truth and belief. And it was _painful_.

“Qui-Gon taught me to be gentle with the faults we can find in others, because he was not perfect and never sought to be. He simply sought to improve himself. And this is something Anakin does as well – which is why he will never disappoint me.”

“Such meekness…”

“Call it whatever you want. I do not care.”

“Have you no pride at all?”

The question was genuine – almost taking Dooku by surprise. Obi-Wan however just raised his eyebrows, hands finding Anakin’s shoulders.

“And who am I, to place myself above so many others? We are a _whole_ , Dooku. And just because I have no interest to dominate or best others does not mean I do not seek to improve my skills, and my way of understanding the Force.”

“How can that be enough?”

Dooku was laughing now, but it sounded cold and foreign to him.

“Because it _is_.”

There was sadness, and compassion in Obi-Wan’s eyes – and Dooku realised then, that this conversation had to end. That he would not gain the boy to his side that day – that he would have to wait for the war to extinguish the light into Obi-Wan’s eyes, for the battles and losses to harden his heart, for the despair to invade more of his mind, until he would be ready to hear some of the truths Dooku had come to embrace.

“I wish you would see it. I wish it would not be _you_ we had to fight, day after day and night after night. But if I must, I will – because it is worth it.”

“What is…?”

Skywalker’s quiet mumble brought them both back to the small, grey cell they were still stuck in, and Obi-Wan’s eyes instantly searched for his face.

“What’s worth it, Master? Why are we back here with _him_?”

“Because your Master would not take your advice to drop me”, Dooku quipped.

“’Course not.”

The childish surety in Skywalker’s voice was surprising, and the boy lifted a hand, gently patting Obi-Wan on the arm.

“I’m the evil one here.”

“Hush now, Anakin.”

Obi-Wan’s hand had not left his brow, and his eyes met Dooku’s again. Steely, with a hint of sadness and unshakable resolve. His Grandpadawan wrapped an arm around Skywalker’s chest, and gave a curt nod.

And despite of himself, Dooku nodded back – because Obi-Wan was definitely _worth_ a conversation. His Grandpadawan also had the means to defend himself, and to get himself – and Skywalker – out of this mess. And so, when Ohnaka’s men went to fetch them, leaving him alone in his cell, Dooku wasted no time preparing his own escape.

When the power died down, he killed the guards and the men facing him without any remorse. And he did not look over his shoulder, not once – determined to leave Florrum as soon as possible, and return with enough forces to burn it to the ground.

Just like he would burn the small part of himself Obi-Wan had brought back to life, because it was not part of Dooku’s plans and schemes.

Some bounds were better severed, and Dooku was honing his blades.

But not just yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there again! I hope you enjoyed this bit, Sith Dooku is a tricky one to write - in my other stories, I think I only wrote him when he was on the verge of leaving the Jedi order and falling, so he was still "good". Here, he obviously is not - and I'm still struggling with the idea of him knowing everything about Order 66 (unfortunately, he does...). But what I like to think is that there was *still* hope for him, even then, just like there is hope for Anakin even after everything. Just for you to know, I definitely plan to write something about the first battle of Geonosis and about that first conversation and later duel between Obi and Dooku. Meanwhile, I hope you still enjoyed this : three more chapter to go, and yes, the next one will *finally* be Ahsoka :).
> 
> Much love, and come and chat with me on Tumblr [here](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/mahizli) if you want. Take care ♥, Meysun.


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